


Change on the Horizon

by static_abyss



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Auror Harry Potter, Canon-Typical Violence, Casual Sex, Curse Breaker Draco Malfoy, Dean Thomas/Harry Potter - Freeform, Depressed Harry, Fred Weasley Lives, Implied Relationships, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Inspired by Shameless (US), Internalized Homophobia, LCDrarry, M/M, Minor Draco Malfoy/Others, Minor Harry Potter/Charlie Weasley, Minor Lucius Malfoy/Narcissa Black Malfoy, Minor Seamus Finnigan/Dean Thomas, Not Epilogue Compliant, Past Draco Malfoy/Blaise Zabini, Past Draco Malfoy/Pansy Parkinson, Past Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Past Relationship(s), References to Depression, Slow Burn, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:14:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 118,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23950636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/static_abyss/pseuds/static_abyss
Summary: When things settle down after the war, Harry has trouble figuring out who he’s supposed to be and what’s expected of him. At the same time, Draco finds himself having to decide between what his parents want and what he wants for himself. Together, Harry and Draco embark on a journey to figure out who they are as individuals and what that means for their future together.A canon AU drarry fic based on the relationship between Mickey and Ian from Shameless.
Relationships: Astoria Greengrass & Draco Malfoy, Draco Malfoy & Blaise Zabini, Draco Malfoy & Pansy Parkinson, Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger & Harry Potter & Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Comments: 62
Kudos: 185
Collections: Lights Camera Drarry 2020





	1. The Boys in the Infirmary

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Forgetticus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Forgetticus/gifts).



> Many thanks are in order, first to my alpha, S, for giving me the idea of Curse-Breaker Draco and for bouncing ideas around with me. She inspired chapter 21 of this fic so many thanks to S for all the help. Thanks to my first beta, Le, for her encouragement and her support from the time when this was only going to be 40k max. She never backed down even when the word count kept going up. Thanks to V who did her best and was one of the first people who made me feel like it was going to be okay. Most especially I would like to thank L, the wonderful beta who stepped in at the last minute and helped me pull this thing together in time for posting. Her incredible flexibility and positive attitude have been so welcomed. I would have been lost without her. 
> 
> Thank you to the mods who ran this fest and to Celila who told me not to worry and generally made this experience much less stressful than it could have been.
> 
> Finally, to the prompter who left this prompt. I cannot begin to tell you the effect your prompt had on my writing life. Never in my years of writing have I ever been able to write anything as easily or as long as this. Your prompt broke a wall that has been keeping me from expressing myself for a very long time. I cannot begin to thank you for the inspiration your prompt has caused. I hope what I have produced here offers to you even the least bit of enjoyment. Thank you for leaving this prompt and I hope I have done it justice. 
> 
> Please see the end for notes to clarify two of the above tags. No spoilers.
> 
> And for anyone who is interested, there is a playlist that goes along with this fic [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5KcOmdCkHOBAme03IRiBvn?si=47aFM73mT2uWcSbRUf0bNg).

Draco Lucius Malfoy has a secret.

As he lies in the Infirmary, staring at the shadows the moonlight makes across the high vaulted ceiling, he can't help but regret, in the deepest parts of himself, that Harry Potter's spell didn't kill him. At least with death, he wouldn't have to worry anymore, about the Dark Lord and what he's asked Draco to do this year, about what failure means for himself and his family. Or about the way Pansy's face gets paler and paler the longer Draco goes without sleep, as though she too feels the constant terror in his soul, the desperation of not being enough, but wanting to be, of having no choice. For at the end of the day, the path his parents have chosen must be the one Draco chooses also. That is and has always been how things are done. No matter how unpleasant Draco's coming to find them.

But that's not Draco's secret. His secret, the one that, despite the terror of everything else happening in his home, rests always at the back of Draco's head is a more sinister sort. It's of things that get lost between bed sheets, of things he's learned to control, to smother until they no longer bother him. It's no mystery why he's good at Occlumency. He has, after all, been shutting down what he feels since the day Harry Potter refused to shake his hand when they arrived at Hogwarts for the first time.

The secret is, Draco Malfoy has wanted to make Harry Potter his for a very long time. As for when that had changed to wanting to kiss Harry Potter, to own him in a different way, Draco can't be sure. He imagines it happened somewhere between his bedsheets, in the leftover spaces between Draco and Blaise Zabini, of all people.

They share a secret, too, in the shadow of night, covered in the eerie green glow of the lake. Blaise above Draco, his fingers digging into Draco's hips as Draco muffles his cries into his pillow. Blaise slipping into Draco's bed after the others are asleep, both of them as quiet as can be, Draco always painfully aware that if his father ever found out, it would be the end of him. 

Of him and not Zabini, because Blaise doesn't pretend to be what he's not. Draco conceals until he's nothing but rage and anger so strong he knows it'll burn him up inside. It's the only way he'll be able to do what must be done and be able to live with it after.

Anger is the only way that Draco can live with the truths that can only be acknowledged in the cover of night. In his dormitory with Blaise or the Infirmary, as he is now, alone but for the sounds of the night and the light from the moon. Truths, such as the fact that it's never been as good with Pansy as it is with Blaise, never as satisfying to fuck a warm girl as it is to have Blaise's hands on any part of him. How he's never slept so well as when Blaise comes to his bed in the cover of darkness. How it's safe, and that's why they both do it because Draco pretends it's just a thing between boys that'll never be spoken of again, and Blaise has fun without the fear of falling in love. Truths they share in a bed that become secrets in the morning. Like how one time, Draco forgot himself and imagined it was Potter's hands on him. How the next morning, he knew nothing but a cold rage, a hatred so deep it was impossible to feel anything else.

The truth is that Draco hates Harry Potter with every fibre of his being. For everything. But most especially for the nights, for this one, when he allows himself the freedom to think, to feel, to be weak. Draco hates what Potter stands for, for what he has done to Draco, to his family. For what isn't his fault and never could be, but what scares Draco most of all. 

Draco would gladly have killed Potter, ripped him to shreds and watched him bleed out on the bathroom floor. Because without Harry Potter, there would be no more secrets.

*

Harry's thinking of the tears on Malfoy's face.

Harry has a memory from when he was younger, a wispy almost half-forgotten thing. Aunt Petunia had come to see him in his cupboard in the middle of the night. Harry had never asked her why, but she had to have been there because that's the only way she would've discovered he'd wet the bed again. It had been the third time that week, and Harry had already learned to strip his bed and run the washing machine before Aunt Petunia woke up. She'd just told him off about wetting the bed, and Harry in his too-large pyjamas had stood in the hallway outside of his cupboard waiting for her to come out of the bathroom. He doesn't remember why she went to the bathroom, only that he waited in the hallway for so long he started shivering. Only that it was the eve of his parents' deaths and he was so very alone.

It had been cold and he hadn't known what to do about his wet clothing, so he'd climbed the steps to the bathroom upstairs, careful to keep his hands away from the railing and his steps light. Aunt Petunia had never liked it when Harry left fingerprints on the railings, and Uncle Vernon couldn't stand stomping. So Harry had climbed quietly until he stood in front of the open bathroom door.

He remembers that Aunt Petunia had stood there, her thin hands gripping the edge of the sink as though it were the only thing holding her up. He'd stood in the doorway then too, paralyzed with fear, a boy with no tether. He hadn't known how to comfort a crying Aunt Petunia, but he'd known he wanted to. Just as he'd wanted to comfort Draco Malfoy.

Now, he sits in his four-poster bed, the red bed-hangings obscuring his view. He's endured the disappointment from his teammates, McGonagall's anger, and even the sadness on Ginny's face. He heard Hermione's justified reprimands, knows she's right, even though part of him rebels at the thought of giving the Prince's book up. He knows that has to do with Malfoy too, in a way. That Harry thinks that he'll find something among the worn pages and the scribbles that'll help him uncover what Malfoy is hiding.

There has to be something, Harry knows. Because if there's nothing, then Malfoy in the Infirmary, Malfoy in a pool of his own blood, would've been for nothing. And that's something Harry can't stomach. Harry doesn't care about Draco Malfoy. He can't care about a boy who's done nothing but hurt him and more importantly, hurt his friends. But there's something about Draco Malfoy, standing in front of a mirror and confessing his sins to the ghost of a girl, that Harry recognizes.

Something so eerily human and lonely.

*

He has summoned him, is Draco's first thought. Because he hears the door to the Infirmary open, hears the sound of feet on the linoleum floors, the soft " _Muffliato_." The cloak comes off, the silvery material shimmering for a moment in the moonlight before Potter tucks it into his robes. There he is, Harry Potter, taller than he was last year, with the same unruly dark hair and bright green eyes behind glasses.

Draco hates every bit of him.

"What are you doing here?" he asks, his lip curling in disgust. "Come to finish me off, Potter?"

There's a long enough silence that Draco looks away, off into the distant ceiling, wondering what he ever did to deserve this. To be caught so off guard, so suddenly, with his private thoughts.

"You were trying to hurt me," Harry says.

There's something about his voice that makes Draco look at him. It's not an accusation. It's a fact. They've had too much between them for either of them to pretend they don't hate each other. To pretend that Draco didn't want to hurt Harry Potter until there was nothing left to hurt.

"Very observant, Potter," he says at last. "Ten points to Gryffindor for that most astute observation."

"Why?" Harry asks.

He could be asking about anything, Draco knows. But he's too well versed in his hatred of Potter, in that well-practised anger that keeps him safe. He knows the only way to save himself is to end this quickly.

"What have you been doing all year, Malfoy?" Harry asks, finally taking a step away from the door. "Why were you…" 

Here, Potter falters, looks at Draco, then away.

"Why?" he asks again.

"Leave," Draco says. "Get out. Get out, now, or I'll yell."

Potter half-smiles and holds his arms out at his sides. "Go ahead," he says. "It's not like anyone will hear you."

Draco grits his teeth at the sudden rush of anger. He curls his hands into fists and flexes his wand arm.

He knows this can't end well.

*

It isn't working, Harry thinks. He can see Malfoy's rage in the colouring of his cheeks and the way he keeps flexing his arm under the covers, as though he can't help it. Harry had no expectations as he made his way to the Infirmary. He hasn't deluded himself into thinking that he can convince Malfoy into telling him what he's been doing since the summer. Harry is under no delusion as to how this will end.

And still.

Still, here Harry is, standing half a step from the door, watching Draco Malfoy decide whether he will hex Harry or not. The quiet in the Infirmary seems to be mocking them, and Harry wonders for the tenth time, whether this isn't a pointless effort. He's been watching Malfoy for most of this year, that nagging feeling in the back of his mind that there's something more. Something to find in the endless animosity between them, as though they don't hate each other, as though there's more to find than Malfoy in a hospital bed, eyes hollowed out with exhaustion and bandages on his face.

There's nothing to say here that will change what they are to each other. Nothing that Harry can do for Malfoy, not if he's made his choice already. Not if that choice is to take the wrong side. Yet Harry had been so sure that there was more to this, the moment he had seen Draco clutching the sink in the bathroom.

He's exhausted too, Harry realises. There's something about the moonlight and the way it casts shadows on the dark linoleum floors, how the light plays with the shadows on Malfoy's face. Something about the quiet that seems to make the room smaller, how the artificial intimacy of the moment makes Harry take pause. He can feel the tremors that have started at his hands, a muscle memory, as though his body also remembers the thing it did this night.

Malfoy looks young and tired, and though Harry has no expectations from this night, he suddenly finds that he wishes there was something he could say to end this. Some way to put a stop to this problem so that he can go back to worrying only about his private lessons with Dumbledore and whatever is happening between him and Ginny.

"Leave," Draco says, and he has his wand in his hand, and he's pointing it at Harry's chest again.

They've done this before, Harry thinks. They know how this ends. He turns to go and as he's pulling on his Invisibility Cloak, Harry says what he wishes he'd said to Aunt Petunia all those years ago, on the eve of the anniversary of his parents' deaths.

"I'm sorry you're hurting," he says into the quiet, and as he steps out into the darkened corridor, Harry can almost delude himself into thinking that this time, his words will make a difference.


	2. Revelations

Draco watches Dumbledore leave the school from the edge of the Forbidden Forest, hidden in the cluster of trees around the Whomping Willow. He's careful not to move too close to the Willow, not to make a sound as he watches Dumbledore leave through the wrought iron gates at the end of the lawn. Once the night's clear, Draco slips back into the castle, quiet as can be, as he makes his way to the Room of Requirement. There's something he has to do tonight and Draco knows that Dumbledore won't go far. Not with everything that's been happening. Not when he sees the Dark Mark over the Astronomy Tower.

Getting back to the Room of Requirement takes longer than it should once Draco casts his Disillusionment Charm. He's forgotten the things he'll need, so he doubles back to the Slytherin dorm for his Hand of Glory and the Peruvian Darkness Powder he bought this summer. He gets stuck for a moment looking at his bed covered in the green and silver of Slytherin, of how no one would know he wasn't in bed because no one but Blaise would ever think to check on him. But Draco told Blaise not to look for him tonight, so no one will know, until it's too late, what Draco's done.

It's better this way.

He takes the things he came for and turns to go. He slips through the entrance and up to the Room of Requirement, and it's just luck that he slips inside unseen. He watches the door close behind him and barely catches a glimpse of red hair rounding the corner at the end of the corridor. The door shuts and Draco hears Weasley curse and Longbottom's softer response.

"It's okay, Ron. We'll wait for him here."

Weasley says something about a potion and Potter, and just like that, all Draco can think about is that night in the Infirmary. Weasley has summoned Harry Potter in the silence of the night, in Draco's thoughts.

 _I'm sorry you're hurting_ , Potter had said, as though it mattered to him what Draco felt.

It's a second's hesitation, but it's more than enough because now Draco's thinking of his mother. She'd cried when he left after the Easter holidays, and it's so very easy to picture her doing so again over his father's body. It's foolish to think that nothing will happen should Draco fail tonight. His father's drawn-out death and then his own, so that his mother suffers, is the obvious conclusion. None of their ends will be kind if Draco stops now.

Still, he can't help the hesitation. He's been nothing but cruel and vile to Potter and his friends. That matters, Draco knows. It matters that he's been cruel to Harry Potter's friends, perhaps more than it matters that he'd tried to torture Potter in the bathroom. What he doesn't understand is why, despite this, Potter cared that Draco was hurting.

It shouldn't matter. Potter shouldn't matter more than Draco's family. This decision should be simple, and it is. He pulls out his galleon and his wand, traces the words "Borgin and Burkes" on the coin. And that's how it begins.

Except, there's the regret, a small thing in the centre of Draco's chest, and he's furious. Anger above anything he has ever known because Potter shouldn't make him feel so much conflict. Potter, who doesn't know, can't possibly understand what these last few months have been like. Potter, who hasn't had to scavenge for scraps in his mother's letters for any hint that something has happened. Potter hasn't had to live with the Dark Lord in his home, in his sleep, always there so that Draco always has to keep his guard up. Not a second where Draco isn't hiding what he feels, who he is, and how terrified he is that this will go wrong.

Potter doesn't know and Potter shouldn't matter.

In a fury, Draco tosses the galleon in his hands as hard as he can towards a stack of books in front of him. He almost wishes that Weasley and Longbottom had made it in so that Draco would have someone to hurt. But he pulls himself together because no one can know.

No one must know.

*

Harry and Dumbledore make it to the top of the Astronomy tower and Harry's frozen against the stone wall, unable to move as he watches Draco disarm Dumbledore. He watches as Dumbledore gives up the pretence of strength, and if there's ever a moment, it's this one. It's now that Draco should make his move because Dumbledore's alone and Harry can't do anything to help him.

But the moment stretches and the green light from the Dark Mark above the tower is enough to eclipse the moonlight. It casts the room in an eerie green glow that reminds Harry of the Slytherin dorms. He wonders whether Malfoy is thinking the same thing.

"We can help you," Dumbledore says. "We can put you and your parents in a safe house. There needn't be blood spilt tonight."

"I have to," Draco says. "You don't know what he'll do to me if I don't. What he'll do to my family."

Harry wishes with all his heart that he didn't understand the fear in Malfoy's voice, that it didn't matter to him.

"Then, by all means," Dumbledore is saying. "Go ahead. You have disarmed me. I am no threat."

For a moment nothing happens, and then Draco inhales and lifts his wand higher. Harry's watching Draco so he doesn't miss the way Malfoy's hand won't stop shaking. This is the moment, Harry thinks, but Malfoy doesn't cast his spell. The silence stretches and Harry doesn't dare to hope.

"I can't do it," Draco says, and in the moonlight, it seems as though he's crying again.

"Forgive me for asking, Mr Malfoy, but why not? " Dumbledore asks. "You had no trouble putting others at risk to get to me before."

"I...I didn't know what else to do," Draco says, and now Harry can hear the quaver in his voice.

He tries to move again, futile against Dumbledore's spell. But Harry tries anyway, not sure where he's supposed to go from here. How to let Malfoy know that he's not alone. That for a second time Harry's the witness to the most human side of Draco Malfoy. That it's okay, that neither of them has to be afraid of what happened that night in the Infirmary.

"He'll kill me," Draco says. "He'll kill my mother."

Dumbledore blinks. "Yes, so you have said, and so, perhaps, it may be. But something has changed, hasn't it, Mr Malfoy?"

Draco swallows and Harry watches how Malfoy's hands shake.

"Ah," Dumbledore says now, almost gently. "Not what, but a who."

"That's not," Malfoy starts, stops.

"I wanted you two to find each other. It was my ever-optimistic hope that he might, as the Muggles are fond of saying, show you the light." Dumbledore says, and though he doesn't look in Harry's direction, Harry knows this is meant for his ears, too. "You don't have to do this, Mr Malfoy. We can find another way."

Draco shakes his head. "I don't want to do this, but there's no other way. I don't know what to do."

Dumbledore smiles. "Ah, but that's the beauty of old age," he says. "I happen to know exactly what must be done."

For one euphoric moment, it seems as though things will work out. Malfoy lowers his wand and moves to hand Dumbledore his, and then, Snape walks into the room.

"Ah, Severus," Dumbledore says, smiling. "Mr Malfoy here has had a change of heart. You know what you must do."

Snape says nothing, but Harry can see him, the cold fury on his face. The disdain and hatred that will lead to nothing good. But Dumbledore looks calmer now, as though Snape's presence has soothed him.

"What's going on?" Draco asks.

"You have to go back to the Manor," Snape tells Draco, without looking away from Dumbledore.

"What?" Draco says and there's real fear in his voice. "No, I can't go back there. I don't want to go back there."

"I'm afraid there's no other way," Snape says.

Then, he raises his wand, says, " _Avada Kedavra_ ," and just like that, Dumbledore is dead.

*

Malfoy Manor feels different when Draco goes back for the Easter holidays, almost a year after Dumbledore's death. Though the gardens are the same, the peacocks strutting in the front, the azaleas blooming at the sides, he can feel the difference. Like a mist has settled over the Manor. Absent dementors, it feels like a bad omen. But Draco's mother and father are inside, and though he wishes more than ever that he'd made a different choice much earlier, he knows this is what he must live with now.

He should've said yes to Snape. He should've said yes to Dumbledore. He should've, at the very least, told Potter that he didn't need his pity, just his help. What Draco wouldn't give to be able to go back and change things? To have dragged his mother into hiding the moment his father ended up in Azkaban. No matter what she might have said. No matter how disgusted she would've been knowing the Order of the Phoenix had helped them.

But these things must remain where they are, at the back of Draco's mind, because Draco has to make it out of this war alive. Even if it means dirtying his hands. This is what Professor Snape has told him.

"Do what is asked of you, Draco," Professor Snape had said on the evening of Dumbledore's death. "That is the only way to survive this."

Draco's done just that. Survived. Watched himself from afar as he lifted his wand against whoever it was the Dark Lord asked him to hurt. He stomachs it all because they must survive. Even if it kills them.

-

Draco's not expecting Harry Potter. Not even when Bellatrix comes into the room laughing. He sees Weasley and Granger bound together with three others. He sees Potter, his face swollen and red, but undeniably Potter. Draco knows it's him immediately and instead of being afraid, he's furious.

Cold to the bones with anger, he stands behind his mother and tries to control his emotions. He knows he can't give this away. He can't give any of them away, because to give up one of them is to give up the others. It isn't nobility or bravery that makes Draco close down his thoughts. It isn't even self-preservation. It's anger at Potter.

Draco has lived with the Dark Lord in his home for months, agonizing over the people he's tortured. He dreams of all of them, of their screams, of the way they beg for mercy. But he's done it because Dumbledore told Snape he knew what to do. Because Snape had told Draco to survive, because some part of Draco believes that Dumbledore knew what he was doing when he trusted Severus Snape. It'll all be worth it if Potter succeeds. If Draco knows there's an end to the madness, he can live with what he's done. But not if Harry Potter is stupid enough to get himself captured and killed.

Anger has served Draco well in the past and it serves him now as Bellatrix calls him forward.

"Is it him?" she asks.

"Look carefully, Draco," his father says. "This is important."

 _It is important_ , Draco wants to say. Nothing is more important than what must happen now.

"Is that the Weasley boy?" Narcissa asks.

Draco looks at the three of them, accepts the hatred in their eyes. Then, careful not to look away from them, says, "No, it's not him."

The way they can't seem to hide their surprise is infuriating, so much so that Draco has to take a deep breath before turning back to his father. He makes sure to step in front of them as best as he can, especially Potter because he can't seem to keep a straight face, and Draco will not be brought down because Potter cannot tell a lie.

"Are you sure?" Lucius asks.

"I'm sure," Draco says.

*

Draco doesn't turn them in and Harry can't tell who's more surprised, him, Ron, or Hermione. The Malfoys are arguing and Harry has not taken his eyes away from Draco Malfoy. He's moving ever so carefully away from his parents and Bellatrix.

"Harry," Hermione says. "Look at Malfoy."

 _I am_ , Harry wants to say. But the truth is, he wasn't, not before the night Harry caught him crying in front of a mirror. But he's been watching since then. He watches now as Draco takes Ron's wand from the mantelpiece and sends it across the room.

"Well, fuck," Ron says, so quietly Harry almost misses it. "I didn't see that coming."

They fight their way out. Ron's the only one with a wand and he hands it almost immediately to Hermione. They won't win, Harry knows, but one wand in Hermione's hands is enough to give them a chance. Enough that Harry manages to get across the room to Draco. He catches Draco by surprise and Harry has to fight to get Draco's wand away from him.

"The basement," Draco says when he realises that Harry has disarmed him.

"Come with us," Harry answers.

Even as he says it, Harry knows that this isn't how it goes. They don't do things this way. So he hexes Draco Malfoy and sprints for the door Malfoy had pointed to.

"Go," he yells at Ron and Hermione.

They don't listen. They don't ever listen and Harry watches as Ron tosses his wand at Dean. Dean looks at them all, then at Griphook, and starts running after them. Harry would scream if he had the breath to, but he just keeps going for the stairs, shooting hexes over his shoulder.

They make it downstairs, all four of them, Griphook, and by some miracle, the Sword of Gryffindor. Harry has Malfoy's wand.

"Harry, look," Hermione says, pointing deeper into the basement.

As Ron and Dean start casting charms on the basement door, Harry sees Luna and Ollivander huddled in the darkness. There's hurried hellos, more jinxes, and a familiar searing pain on Harry's forehead.

"We have to go," he says.

They've paired up, one wand per group so they can Disapparate.

"To the Forest of Dean," Ron says.

Harry has a wand and he has to take Dean. He knows they have to go. He can hear Bellatrix yelling counterspells, and Lucius's voice, high pitched with fear. They've called Voldemort and when he comes and doesn't find Harry, the Malfoys will be punished for it.

Draco will be punished for it.

"I have to go back," Harry says, even as he realises that he can't. "They'll hurt him."

"Are you out of your mind?" Ron yells.

"Harry," Hermione says. "Please. You can't be caught here."

And Harry knows.

He knows.

So he turns on the spot and they Disapparate.

*

Draco Malfoy doesn't leave with the rest of the Slytherins. He hears McGonagall and he knows his mother and father are waiting for him, but he doesn't go. He can't explain why, but he knows he can't leave.

*

When it's over and Harry's put the Elder Wand back where it belongs, and everything settles down for one quiet moment that can't last, Harry remembers that Malfoy stayed during the Battle of Hogwarts. Despite what it might mean when Voldemort found out. Despite what he'd already gone through, he'd stayed. And though Malfoy hadn't been the bravest during the Battle of Hogwarts, he hadn't hurt anyone either.

This is very important to Harry for some reason.

*

The Malfoys are free after everything is said and done. They're still in the castle and it feels like days, but it's only hours, and Draco knows the quiet peace won't last. He's still a Slytherin and a Death Eater in a castle full of people his family has hurt. It can't last. But for the moment, it's okay to just sit with his parents and let the relief wash over him.

They survived.

He made it.

He knows things can't ever be the same again.

*

Ginny comes to find him the day before they're meant to head out of the castle and back to the Burrow. Harry watches her cross the lawn to the lake, her bright red hair shining in the sunlight. He loves her. He loves her with all his heart and he doesn't want to hurt her. But he knows that he can't give her what she wants. Not now. Maybe not ever.

There was a war and though it's over, none of them can pretend they're the same as when everything started.

Things change and when they do, there's nothing left but to change with them.


	3. The Man in the Red Jacket

Harry pushes his way through the crowded room as he makes his way to the bar on the far side of the entrance. The way there is full of dancing bodies and the loud beat of club music. As Harry makes his way across the room, the strobe lights bathe the dancefloor in a mesmerizing array of colours. Pinks, blues, yellows and white all pass over Harry's face and hair.

No one turns his way.

At the bar, Harry orders a drink, then another. Normally, Harry doesn't drink. Dr Griffith has listed all the dire consequences of drinking while Harry's on his antidepressants more than once. But Harry thinks he can be forgiven for not taking his pills this one night.

The bartender winks at him after his third drink and says, "You must be new here. I would've remembered if I'd seen you before."

"First time," Harry says.

The bartender looks Harry over, lingering on Harry's arms and shoulders. "You of age?"

"Turned nineteen today," Harry says, downing his drink.

"Cheers, mate," the bartender says, pouring another drink for Harry. "You out celebrating?"

"Something like that," Harry says.

The truth is Harry should be at the Burrow celebrating with the Weasleys, with Hermione who'd tried to catch him as he made his way out of Grimmauld Place that afternoon. Harry had already written to Mrs Weasley to make his apologies and promised that he'd be by tomorrow. He hadn't tried the same excuses on Hermione, had just shaken his head when she called his name and Disapparated to The Dreamer's Bar. It's a good thirty-minute walk from Grimmauld Place, and Harry has passed it often on the long walks that have become a habit after the war.

That's where Harry is now, in a gay Muggle bar, letting the attractive bartender pour him drinks so that Harry can feel less guilty about avoiding his friends. He's in The Dreamer's Bar because it's Muggle and therefore, safe. He can sit at the bar and drink while he watches the men dancing. Might even get up after and find someone to dance with him. Might kiss someone if he feels like it. Anonymous strangers that won't go to the Prophet the next day and spill all the details of what happened between them and Harry.

It's taken Harry a year to work up the courage to go into The Dreamer's Bar, almost as long to come to terms with what he might feel for men. Now, he stands from the bar, drops some bills on the sticky surface, and heads right into the dancefloor. As he's walking he sees a man, tall and broad-shouldered, with short dark hair and a red jacket. The man's back is to Harry, but he fills out his red blazer well, and Harry likes what he sees.

The music is loud, the bass thumping along Harry's chest, out of rhythm with Harry's heart, but in a familiar way. It's not something that can be confused with the bang of flying curses. The people around Harry press closer and even that is welcoming in how it's very obviously not a crowd of adoring fans.

Harry allows the people and music to push him through the crowd until he gets close enough to the man in the red jacket. The man turns and Harry catches sight of unblemished dark skin, the long straight nose, and the dimples that show as the man smiles at Harry.

"Harry," Dean Thomas says. "Fancy seeing you here."

Harry smiles back automatically, blinks once, again, and the attraction is still there. It's only Dean, so it's easy for Harry to lean in close with the pretext of being heard over the music, and say, "I think we both know what we're doing here."

Dean grins roguishly and turns fully to Harry. The light of the club washes over Dean's face and the tight dark curls on Dean's head. His jacket is soft cotton, the red clashing brilliantly with the rotating strobe lights. Harry finds himself pleasantly surprised by how easy it is to let Dean lead him in a dance, how the feel of Dean's hands set a low thrum of desire low in Harry's belly. He lets himself enjoy the moment, lets the knowledge of attraction settle deep within him, and when Dean leans forward to kiss him, it's confirmation of what Harry has long since suspected about himself.

They go home together to Grimmauld Place.

"Seamus and I share a place," Dean says by way of explanation. "Doesn't seem fair to bring someone back home to shared space."

"No worries," Harry says. "I have rooms."

It becomes a thing without Harry realizing, even though he and Dean have agreed that it's a casual, no-strings kind of thing. It's nice. He likes being with someone who likes him, who will give Harry the space to figure out what he likes and who he is, in the safety of closed doors. Dean knows what it's like to want to be oneself in the presence of hundreds of eyes, albeit on a smaller scale than Harry does. So Dean and Harry figure themselves out together and Harry isn't afraid that it'll mean more than it does.

Harry likes that Dean laughs, rolls out of bed each time, and says, "This was fun, Harry. But I should be getting back to the Missus."

It's what he calls Seamus now that they live together. Harry is no Hermione, but he suspects there's something there. One day, when Dean and Seamus figure it out, there will be no more going out to The Dreamer's Bar, or out to the London streets to throw pebbles at Big Ben just to see the tourists looking around confused. No more watching football together and complaining about how predictable the finals are getting. No more stolen nights where they sneak out to have a pint at the little pub by where Dean's mother lives. Harry doesn't mind, but it's been nice to just exist as a person with Dean away from the loudness of the press, in the space Harry has created for himself in Grimmauld Place. Even if it is something he'll eventually have to give up.

-

"So," Ron starts, on a Sunday afternoon in late August.

They're at the Burrow, just past teatime, sitting at the kitchen table where the remains of dinner are wrapped in parcels for Harry to take home. Hermione's at her parents' place. Molly's out in the yard checking the turnips in her garden, and the rest of the Weasleys have disappeared to their usual lives. Ginny's at practice, having just signed on with the Holyhead Harpies.

When Harry looks at Ron again, he sees the pained expression on Ron's face and knows that Ron's planned the absence of his family. There's a very exact methodology that lets Harry know that Hermione's helped Ron plan this. Harry's so sure this is about missing his birthday tea, even though it has been a month and Harry went the next day to make it up to Mrs Weasley.

"Listen, mate," Ron says.

"I'm sorry," Harry says quickly. "I know I messed up, but I did talk to her the next day."

"You told her?" Ron asks, eyes wide. "Blimey, Harry, how did she take it?"

"Not bad," Harry says, wondering why Ron seems so surprised that Mrs Weasley forgave him for missing his birthday. "She said she understood."

Ron makes a face. "I guess that's all right, then. If Ginny knows. Though I'd thought you might have told me about it, seeing as how we're mates and everything. Hermione reckons you weren't ready but I didn't want you to feel like you couldn't tell me. And, well, you told Ginny, which I get. I'd want to tell Hermione first if it were me. But afterwards, well, I'd tell you, wouldn't I?"

Harry, who has been getting more confused the longer Ron talks, shakes his head, and says, "Wait, what are you talking about?"

"You and Dean Thomas. About telling Ginny," Ron says. "Why? What were you talking about?"

Harry's so sure he and Dean have been careful. They go to Muggle clubs, Muggle pubs. Sometimes they use charms and Harry's been abusing his Invisibility Cloak lately. He's just so tired of the photographers and Rita Skeeter, in particular, lurking near Grimmauld Place, near the Ministry, at Diagon Alley. Everywhere he goes another camera, another person looking to catch Harry at something, even if it's just him buying a sandwich from the Leaky Cauldron.

Harry allows himself this thing with Dean because it's his secret, a momentary pause on the world around him. He never intended to share it, but he supposes he should have expected this. Ron and Hermione have full access to Grimmauld Place. All the Weasleys do, and he would never dream of telling them that they can't show up when he's not there. Grimmauld Place is home only because they can come and go. Otherwise, Harry would have taken Kingsley up on his offer to find him a cottage in the countryside.

He's not ashamed of what he feels or what he's done. He's ashamed for having kept it a secret from Ron, but from Ginny especially. He figures it might be odd for her to know that Harry and Dean have been seeing each other. He realises that this moment with Ron is about a concerned brother and friend, and he feels a rush of affection towards Ron, and towards Hermione. He can imagine the look on her face when Ron told her, how she would have wrung her hands as she worked out the best way to approach Harry. He imagines her and Ron pouring over plans, going over strategies, and it eases something in Harry's chest to imagine them planning for something no more dangerous than confronting their best friend.

"How long have you known?" Harry asks.

"About two weeks now. I saw Dean coming out of Grimmauld Place," Ron says, making a face. "Well, I didn't see Dean exactly. But I saw the red jacket and I knew."

"Hang on," Harry says. "His red jacket?'

"Yeah," Ron shrugs. "You know how the Prophet started going after anyone else even remotely related to the Battle of Hogwarts after you got good at hiding from them? Dean got caught in a couple of pictures wearing the thing, so I recognized it."

"Outed by a man in a red jacket," Harry says, unable to keep the amusement out of his voice. "Not the way I figured I'd go."

Ron laughs and Harry joins him, and for a moment, they could be two anonymous, young men sitting at a kitchen table bathed in the evening light. But then Ron stops laughing and Harry remembers who they are.

"You should tell her," Ron says. "Only because it might be a nasty surprise for her to find out her two exes are dating from the Prophet, or worse, the Quibbler. You know Luna started helping her dad run the press and she likes you, mate, but that doesn't guarantee her dad won't run the story. You know how he is."

"I know," Harry says. "Not about Luna and the Quibbler. About Ginny."

Harry falls silent as he imagines Ginny's face. They'd talked after the Battle of Hogwarts, at the lake, right before everyone went back to the Burrow. Most of their friends had already gone home with their parents. The Malfoys had left first. Harry remembers that clearly.

The day had been warm, the lake still, as though nature itself had been exhaling in relief. Ginny had caught him on his second lap of the lake and he'd looked at her and couldn't find it in himself to be excited to see her. He loved her, he's always known that. But something had shifted in the aftermath of the war, something fundamental, as though the Harry who'd held her and kissed her hadn't come back from the Forbidden Forest.

"I'm sorry," he'd told her.

And Ginny Weasley, with all the bravery of a true Gryffindor, had laughed and said, "Your loss, Potter."

But they made it past all that. Ginny had gone back for her last year at Hogwarts and had led Gryffindor to victory after victory as Captain of the Quidditch team. She'd come back for Christmas when Harry had still been working with Kingsley to round up the Death Eaters who'd escaped after the Battle of Hogwarts. They'd talked and they'd put it all behind them.

Harry feels a flash of guilt as he imagines Dean and all the things that they've done. But the part of himself that's come alive ever since Voldemort's death, the part that clings fiercely to life, doesn't let Harry regret what he's done.

"I'll tell her," he says to Ron.

Ron must see something in Harry's expression or hear it in his voice because he reaches across the table to place a hand on Harry's shoulder. He shakes Harry gently.

"She loves you, you know," Ron says. "She won't care. And neither do I. Or Hermione. We love you, mate."

Harry smiles.

Few things that have come after the war had been good in the beginning. Which made the good things that did that much brighter in Harry's book. Things like Teddy taking his first steps, and Fleur giving birth to a beautiful baby girl. Things like Ron clapping Harry on the back on his eighteenth birthday and telling him that he loved him. The easy affection that Ron gives now. The way Hermione will kiss Harry on top of his head whenever he's sitting and she passes him. Little things that Harry makes lists of in his head, things that make everything he did worth it.

"Thanks," Harry says, eventually.

"No problem," Ron says, catching sight of the kitchen clock with all the Weasleys' faces. "Oh, better not thank me too soon. Ginny's home."

Harry closes his mouth on what he was going to say when the kitchen door opens and Ginny walks through. She's wearing her green Quidditch training robes, her red hair pulled up into a ponytail. She stops when she sees Harry sitting at the kitchen table and Ron half-standing, half-crouching by Harry's side.

"What's going on?" she asks.

"Bye," Ron says, making a dash for the door. "Remember Mum doesn't like blood on the kitchen table."

Harry watches the kitchen door slam shut behind Ron, and he's still more amused than anything when he turns back to Ginny.

"What have you done now?" she asks, pulling off her leather Quidditch gloves and tossing them onto the table.

Harry laughs. "Nothing but the usual," he says. "How was practice?"

"Kicking my ass, like always. But I think I've got a good shot at being made starting Chaser next year," she says, grinning. "Good enough to get complimented by Gwenog Jones, anyway."

"Wow," Harry says. "You're living the dream."

Ginny beams. "And don't you forget it," she says. "So what was Ron running away from?"

Harry contemplates giving her a chance to have dinner before he talks to her but Ginny deserves better than that.

"He wanted to be gone before I told you that I'm gay," Harry says.

He takes a moment to let the information sink in, for it to hit him and Ginny. It doesn't feel any different than telling Ron. It's just as easy because Harry is certain of Ginny, of the fact that she loves him and wants him to be happy.

"Okay," she says, narrowing her eyes. "Now I know there's going to be something else I won't like in there."

"Promise you won't hex me," Harry says, only half-joking.

Ginny just raises one perfectly done eyebrow.

"I was seeing Dean Thomas," Harry says quickly. "Or, I am. I think there might be something happening between him and Seamus and I don't want to get in the way of that. But Dean's been good. Kind about helping me figure myself out."

"Oh," Ginny says.

She says nothing for a moment, and Harry watches her carefully. She looks like she's trying to remember something.

"The red jacket," she says finally, turning to Harry with excitement. "Is Dean the guy who keeps coming out of Grimmauld Place at around eight every morning?"

"Does everyone know?" Harry asks, horrified.

"Well, Mum knows," Ginny says. "She went to drop off some food. You know Mum, she doesn't think you're eating enough. She asked me if I knew who it was, but I didn't think it was Dean. Even after he was in the Prophet."

"There are no secrets anymore," Harry says, shaking his head.

"No," Ginny says. She waits for Harry to look at her again before continuing. "There are no secrets from family, Harry."

Harry exhales shakily. "Thanks, Gin," he says.

Ginny nods and starts unwrapping the packages on the table. She picks at the leftovers and Harry doesn't bother telling her that Mrs Weasley left her a plate on the counter.

"So," Ginny says, after a moment. "Dean Thomas."

"Yeah?" Harry says carefully.

Ginny raises her eyebrows suggestively. "Really good kisser, isn't he?"

It really is the little things, Harry thinks, even as he laughs.

-

Kingsley owls the day after Harry's talk with Ginny. The note is simple, in Kinglsey's neat handwriting, it lists details of Kingsley's swearing-in as permanent Minister for Magic. The letter asks that Harry attend that afternoon and gives him a plus one. He thinks of owling Ginny before remembering that she'll be off with the Harpies until late evening. He thinks briefly of inviting Dean but dismisses the idea almost as quickly. Dean will probably merit his own invitation, with how much he's been helping Kingsley with Muggle-born relations in the aftermath of the war.

In the end, Harry decides to go alone. He means to stop by the Ministry to see Hermione anyway. She's been getting settled at the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, and Harry owes her an explanation in person. It's also a good opportunity for Harry to stop by and see Ron at Auror training, and try to avoid the more enthusiastic Ministry employees who keep hinting that Harry's welcome to join them at any time.

Harry will. He knows himself better than to think he'll ever be at peace knowing there's evil in the world and doing nothing about it. He, Ron, and some of the others have been helping Kinglsey round-up Death Eaters since the end of the war, and though Ron said yes to officially joining the Auror program, Harry had just wanted a moment to himself. He'll say yes, perhaps sooner than everyone thinks, but for the time being, Harry's okay with watching Ron and Hermione sort their lives out.

Harry's content with visiting Ron and Hermione, though he stopped going to the Ministry of Magic by the usual route ever since he was mobbed by a group of overeager teenagers. It'd been on one of his earlier forays into the wizarding world after the war. He takes precautions now, travels by Floo directly into the office Hermione shares with two other people. Kingsley himself made the connection between the two fireplaces so that only Harry's allowed past the Ministry wards. When Harry asked what would happen to anyone who tried to use his fireplace to get into the Ministry, Kingsley had just given him a solemn look and said, "Nothing good."

Harry feels better knowing that Kinglsey's going to be Minister and he won't miss the swearing-in. So he takes his medication, puts on his cleanest clothes from the pile at the foot of his bed, adds a travelling cloak as an afterthought, and steps into the fireplace.

The first thing he sees on arriving is Hermione ducking behind a stack of papers at her desk. Harry dusts himself off, waves at the little witch across from Hermione and the wizard next to her. They smile and wave back, and Harry's grateful that him popping in and out of Hermione's office all the time seems to have made his appeal wear off.

"Hey, Hermione," he says, heading over to her desk. "You won't believe what Ron and I talked about yesterday."

"Oh, Harry," Hermione says, doing a terrible impression of being surprised by Harry's presence. "I didn't see you there."

Harry raises an eyebrow.

"Oh, all right," she says, glaring. "Ron told me everything. Except what happened with Ginny."

Harry casts a quick _Muffliato_ , sits at the edge of her desk, and tells her everything.

"Ron already told me you love me," Harry says, once he's done. "So you don't have to say anything really."

But Hermione pushes off her desk anyway and hugs him.

"We do love you," she says. "And I think it's good that you're taking the time to get to know yourself better. You deserve that Harry."

Harry murmurs his thanks and says yes to Hermione's offer of tea. At lunchtime, Harry decides to take Hermione up on her offer to order in. Ron walks up from the Auror offices and the three of them spend a good part of lunch trying to see who can get their straw wrappers in the disposal basket across the room. Ron leaves after lunch and Harry stays with Hermione, helping her sort her papers in order of priority.

At five in the afternoon, Hermione stands up, waves her wand, and the piles on her desk rearrange themselves in neat rows. She smooths out her robes, gives Harry an appraising look, declares him fit to go, and they leave together.

The change is almost immediate once Harry steps out of Hermione's office. It's not just him, Harry knows. Hermione has to deal with her own share of attention after everything that's happened. But suddenly he feels as though there is no room, even though they've stepped out into a large open space with ceilings that disappear into the afternoon sky. The whispering of Ministry employees is too loud and it settles like a band around Harry's chest.

Hermione nudges Harry to the side and steps in between him and the curious eyes. It's not as though Harry isn't used to the attention. He's dealt with it enough that he's able to exist in spite of the whispers that follow him wherever he goes. He puts up a good show, he thinks. Never forgets to answer. Always polite. He just hasn't been able to be convincing enough that Hermione and Ron don't notice.

"Did you take your medication today, Harry?" Hermione whispers as they make their way to the lifts.

"Yeah," Harry says. "I'll need a refill soon, but I've already made an appointment with Dr Griffith's office."

"Good," Hermione says, and she lets it go as they reach the lifts at the front of the room.

The queue breaks apart when Harry and Hermione get there, and though Hermione assures everyone that they can wait, they're the first to get into the lift when it comes.

"Really," Hermione says, as person after person files their way in. All of them crane their necks to catch a glimpse of Harry. "It's not like you weren't here just a week ago."

Harry laughs and the sudden tension in his chest eases a little at the absurdity of the situation. He fought Lord Voldemort and lived, but a couple of witches and wizards in pointed hats have him cornered in a lift. He makes eye contact with Hermione and they look away to keep from laughing.

When the lift comes to a stop at the Atrium, the crowd of Ministry employees shifts to let Harry and Hermione out. They're all headed in the same direction, to the centre of the large room, its high vaulted ceiling shining with the fading sun. It sets the room in an orangey glow, the last rays hitting Kingsley who stands at the centre of the room on a dais. Ron waves from the front of the crowd, his red hair easy to spot without his hat.

Harry and Hermione make their way through the people until they're next to Ron. They shift and Harry naturally ends up between Ron and Hermione. The ceremony is short, a simple confirmation that Kingsley will lead the wizarding world to better places. His promise to revolutionize the current system, a promise to be better for the sake of their communities.

The crowd splits up after that, the workers heading home after a long day. Those with invitations from Kingsley stay behind, and once the smaller group is left, Harry's surprised to see Draco Malfoy leaning against a wall to the side.

He's dressed in emerald green robes, his hair longer than Harry remembers it from the Prophet pictures that came out almost a year ago. It'd been a quick announcement letting the wizarding community know that the Malfoys had been cleared of all charges, that their only son, Draco, would be returning to Hogwarts. There'd been no further details, but Harry had been glad to know that Malfoy was doing something with his life. Even if he doesn't look as well as he did the last time Harry saw him.

Draco's still pristine in his dress robes, his hair combed back away from his face, but less severe than from what he wore at Hogwarts. Even from across the room, Harry can see that Draco holds himself as though he's in pain, his eyes darting across the room. Something about Draco doesn't seem right and Harry keeps his eyes on Draco as he tries to figure out what it is. There's nothing obvious about Draco that's different but Harry's sure that if he gets closer, he'll be able to figure it out.

Harry takes an involuntary step forward, not knowing what he'll say when he gets to Draco, but feeling like he has to. There are things between them that feel meaningful, things that Harry wishes he'd said over the last year. In the year since the war, Harry hasn't had the opportunity to talk to Draco, to ask him why he hadn't given them away at Malfoy Manor. To thank him for staying at the end of the Battle of Hogwarts, and for being one of the first to willingly give up all of the Dark artefacts left at Malfoy Manor to the Ministry of Magic.

Those things mean something to Harry and he wishes he had a way of telling Draco that. But he'll settle for a "hello," a courteous exchange where they'll both pretend that they didn't spend most of their school years hating each other.

"Harry, where are you going?" Hermione asks.

"I'll be right back," Harry says, not taking his eyes away from Draco.

Ron turns then, too, sees Harry staring off into the distance and follows his gaze. "Ah," he says, distastefully. "I figured Malfoy would be here. Proudfoot told me Kingsley's been using him to round up Dark artefacts."

"Malfoy's the new Curse-Breaker?" Hermione asks. "But from what I heard, Kingsley's Curse-Breaker has a reputation for punching purebloods."

"What?" Harry asks, finally looking away from Draco.

"Yeah," Ron shrugs. "He got into a fight with Nott for calling Dean a Mudblood."

"Malfoy?" Harry asks, incredulously.

Ron shrugs again.

"Huh," Hermione says, pensively.

"Speaking of Dean," Ron says, nudging Harry's shoulder.

Harry looks to where Ron is pointing. Dean, in jeans, a black shirt, and his favourite red jacket is walking across the room towards Harry, Ron, and Hermione.

He smiles wide when he sees Harry and says, "Fancy seeing you here."

Harry grins and does his best to ignore the way Ron and Hermione are pretending as though they've melted into the surroundings. "Hello, Dean," he says. "You've met Ron and Hermione."

Dean, who's been well warned by Harry regarding Harry's conversations with the Weasleys the day before, makes a show of turning to Ron and Hermione. The three of them exchange pleasantries, and Harry hangs back. He's fascinated by the expressions on Hermione's face. She looks like she's going to say something, catches Harry's amused expression, and rolls her eyes before asking Dean about his work with Kingsley.

Harry listens to them, automatically moving to Dean's right where he usually stands when they're out. Dean's left-handed, and Harry's had Dean's hand collide with his stomach as he reaches for his drink at the bar more times than he can count. Harry's sure Hermione notices, but Harry does his best to ignore her knowing glance. It's much harder when a few moments later, Harry takes off his glasses to clean them and Dean extends his hand. Harry doesn't even think about it as he hands Dean his glasses. Dean murmurs a quick spell and gives the glasses back.

"Thanks," Harry says. "I'm rubbish at cleaning spells."

"That's what you have me for," Dean says, knocking his shoulder against Harry's.

Harry shakes his head and turns away to hide his smile. The move puts Draco in his line of sight and Harry is surprised to see that Draco's looking right at him.


	4. Small Steps

Draco knows better than to dismiss an invitation from the acting Minister for Magic, much less when Kingsley's about to become permanent Minister. But the idea of dressing in formal robes and heading back to the Ministry, when he's just been there this morning, is enough to make Draco consider saying no. His arm is still bruised from where the cursed hand Nott's father kept in their basement got a hold of Draco. It'd taken four different countercurses to get the thing off and safe to transport. After that, he'd spent two hours with the Auror team, headed by Proudfoot of all people, explaining the necessary precautions. It had gone terribly to put it mildly.

Theodore had shown up before Draco had been able to escape and there'd been a small scuffle in the atrium as Nott tried to shove his way in to see the Aurors. The witch at the welcome desk had refused him entry, and Theodore, showing the clear lack of wisdom that characterized his family, had tried to pull his wand. Draco wouldn't have gotten involved, but Dean Thomas had been coming in at the time and had tried to stop Nott. This had attracted Weasley's attention and the whole thing had the look of being blown out of proportion.

So Draco had stepped in and said, "Just let it go, Nott."

Nott, the great oaf had said, "What? You're defending Mudbloods now?"

The thing was, Draco's never pretended he's a good person. He knows he can never make up for what his family has done even before the Second Wizarding War. In his blood runs the legacy of truly heinous customs and he'll inevitably die with that reputation. But, it's also after the war. The Dark Lord's dead and Draco still wakes at the slightest sounds. He's sure he'll hear the screams in his head forever and he's so tired of everyone making things worse. He's tired of existing as he had before.

It's enough.

He'd told Nott as much and Nott, in his eternal wisdom had said, "That's rich coming from you, Malfoy."

"People change," Draco had told him, annoyed that he was having to say it in front of Weasley and Dean Thomas of all people. "What I did and said was wrong then, and it's wrong now. I just wish I'd been willing to listen to the people who were telling me that back then."

The silence was too much, Draco thinks now. It shouldn't have been such a surprise to the people around them that times changed. They had, after all, been championing a new era in the wizarding world since the Dark Lord's death. Either way, things would have been fine if Nott hadn't called Draco a blood traitor and spat in his face.

As that's what Nott had done, Draco had reacted instinctively, tossed his wand aside, and hit him right in the face. It was all the self-control Draco had managed. The fight itself hadn't lasted too long. Weasley had pulled Nott away and Draco's sure Weasley meant to let him go until Head Auror Robards had shown up. Draco hadn't been allowed to explain and he'd ended up in one of the many empty Auror offices for questioning. It'd taken the Auror department a good twelve hours to get back to him. Employee shortages, they'd said.

Draco had been released earlier that day and told not to start any more trouble. He'd barely gotten a few hours of sleep before Kingsley's owl had shown up.

Now, Draco resigns himself to what's to come in the evening. He's under no delusion that he'll be greeted warmly among Kingsley's guests. He expects them to be more of the same kind of people that Kingsley's fond of pairing Draco with, ex-members of the Order of the Phoenix, or students who fought at the Battle of Hogwarts. Draco would think Kingsley's punishing him if it weren't for how valuable Draco's skills are in the last of the cleanups.

There's a lot left to do. Draco knows first hand that the initial resistance in the first year after the Dark Lord's death had severely depleted the Ministry's resources. The Malfoys had made a generous donation to help out and then, at his mother's request, Draco had gone out and secured himself a respectable job. Something with enough liberty that Draco could move away if he had to, but sought after enough that he could begin to pay back a little of what his family owed the wizarding community.

Small steps.

It is, after all, what Dumbledore would've wanted.

The day goes by as usual as Draco sits in for a late lunch with his mother and father. Narcissa Malfoy greets him warmly. The war has done her marvels. She sits at the table, her wizarding robes immaculate. All the tension that's been with her since Draco's father went to Azkaban is far removed from the woman who sits at the table. Lucius Malfoy is the exact opposite. He sits at the head of the table, his back ramrod straight, his hair combed until it shines. But the white at his temples is more pronounced than Draco remembers it, the contrast between his white-blond hair and the greys large enough that it's noticeable. For the first time since Draco's been alive, his father looks exactly his age. There are the scars, too, but all of the Malfoys carry them in some form or another.

Lunch is a quiet affair and Draco excuses himself when he can no longer stand it. It's been this way since the end of the war. After the three of them had left Hogwarts, they'd come back to the Manor, and it'd felt different.

It feels different.

The gardens are blooming again. The peacocks roam along the grounds, stopping every now and then to peck at insects in the grass. The Manor is alive again. It breathes with the absence of Dark magic. Even the weeds that like to sneak in when Draco's mother is distracted have returned. It no longer feels as though Draco's in a cage, and the mist that had seemed to settle over the Manor when the Dark Lord invaded their home is gone.

These small things are what Draco has to be thankful for. Even if his father no longer looks at him if it isn't absolutely necessary. Even if he knows his mother is building up to an uncomfortable conversation, where they'll both have to come to terms with the knowledge that they no longer understand each other like they used to. It can't be the same as it was before. Surely, his mother and father must know that. And still, they've done the most excellent job of ignoring the changes over the last year.

It had been simple. Draco had gone back to finish his last year. Pansy and Blaise had gone back, too, and though they'd always been close, the war had changed that. Pansy had barely talked to him all through the year, as though by distancing herself, she might be saved from further embarrassment. Blaise had always taken the middle ground when it came to the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters, and so, he had no qualms about associating with Draco. But things had changed even there, and the same releases that had been available to Draco before the war were no longer there.

So, he'd gone back to meaningless fucking, with whatever girl was brave enough to slip into an empty classroom with him, or much less frequently, with whatever guy had been available and willing to keep quiet. Always in secret, always with no thought to anything but getting lost in the feeling of warm skin against his. Just some quick fucks so that Draco could go back to pretending like this was something he could ignore, like it was something that he'd do only while he was still a boy at Hogwarts. When he tried hard enough, he enjoyed girls, especially when they were silent and had dark hair, so he could close his eyes and pretend he was thinking of no one else.

In this way, he'd managed to survive his last year. Then, he'd come back home to the Manor and had thrown himself into work.

His mother asks every now and again whether Draco's thinking of marriage, whether he remembers Daphne Greengrass from school. She makes comments about respectable matches and had practically invited all the eligible pureblood women to his birthday celebration, two months prior. Draco had come out of that with a new appreciation for the change that the new Ministry of Magic was touting. If changing the way the wizarding world was run would make it so that Narcissa never again paraded Draco in front of a roomful of purebloods, then that would be fine with Draco.

The good thing about the party, the only good thing, is that Pansy's talking to Draco again. Blaise never stopped, and Draco sees him often enough that he still considers what they have a friendship. But Pansy means more to Draco than he was ever willing to admit. He needs her. She understands him in a way he fears he may never understand himself. If he didn't think it would be most unfair to her, he would just tell his mother that he chooses Pansy. As it is, she's the only person besides Blaise that knows that he likes to...indulge.

It's not information Draco volunteered. She'd caught him and Blaise and it'd been too much trouble to deny what had happened. Draco had admitted that he might sometimes do things, but that it meant nothing. He'd talked so much that Pansy had told him she understood, that sometimes she did things that meant nothing, too.

Draco stops on his second turn around the Manor and thinks of inviting Pansy to Kingsley's party. He sends a quick Patronus message and gets a response almost immediately. It's just Pansy laughing, and Draco almost smiles.

-

Going to Kingsley's party is a mistake that Draco intends to rectify almost immediately. But as the crowd thins out, he catches sight of a mop of dark hair and beautiful bronze skin. Potter turns, and Draco looks away, let's his gaze fall on the other people in the room. He gets a glare from one of the Aurors and a small courteous nod from Dean Thomas.

Draco keeps his eyes away, but he can feel the prickling of awareness, and he knows that Potter's eyes have found him. It's years of practice, of being aware of where Harry Potter is at every moment in time, another sense long since polished to perfection. He can almost feel the moment Potter looks away and Draco risks a glance.

He sees Dean has captured Potter's attention, the way Potter's smile stretches across his face, how the sudden change has lit up his green eyes. Potter looks good, looks even better when Dean puts a hand on his shoulder over the dress shirt Potter's wearing. He's in Muggle clothes, but also holding a travelling cloak, and Draco's amused at the duality that seems to have become the norm at the Ministry.

He keeps watching now that he knows he's safe. Now that Potter's busy with Dean, both of them at ease in each other's space. Draco almost thinks that maybe there's something there. Almost. But just that acknowledgement is enough to spin his world out of control. He's spent too many nights ignoring how he finds Potter attractive, too many days angry instead. The feelings come naturally now, safe in their familiarity. Draco knows he's not a good person because deep within him, he still wishes he could break Harry Potter into a million pieces.

-

It's a mistake, Draco thinks, much too late and far too many drinks in.

Kingsley had made an announcement earlier, about officially waiving the education requirements for the Auror training program, for any of the students who were of age and had survived the Battle of Hogwarts. The room had exploded into applause as Weasley had been promoted and given an office. Then the room had gone quiet. Everyone was looking at Potter, so Draco was looking at Potter. And Potter had smiled knowingly at Kingsley and had said, "Fine. You win. I'll do it."

Draco hadn't known that Potter wasn't in training to be an Auror. He'd assumed because, of course, Potter would become an Auror after the Dark Lord's death. But Draco hadn't known Potter was newly committed as he'd watched Potter get wrapped up by the cheers and the people. Then Thomas had pulled Potter into a hug and kissed his cheek and Draco had started drinking.

It's too easy to get thrown back. To forget the promises he's made to himself as he leans against the far wall and pretends he isn't looking at Potter and Thomas. Anger has always served Draco well, has kept him sane in the moments he's felt weakest. It spikes through him now as he watches Thomas reaching back towards the table for his drink and catching Potter's hand instead. The easy smile for Potter as he hands Thomas his drink, the casual grin, and the shoulder nudges. All small indications of a thing like Draco had with Blaise. A familiarity that comes from fucking.

Draco takes another drink.

He knows he should go. The party seems to be dying down now that Kingsley has made his announcement. Draco's been in zero fights. He can leave now and consider the night a success. But he stays because he wants to know. Just to make sure that he isn't reading things wrong. That Potter and Thomas have something. That should Draco ever have the opportunity, it won't be a missed one. Even though the sanest part of himself knows it'll never happen.

And yet.

They've been catching each other's eyes all evening. Just the barest of contact ever since Potter caught Draco looking earlier. Draco's stopped trying to pretend it's a mistake. He lingers, lets his eyes drink their fill the more alcohol he consumes. There must be something Potter wants because he keeps looking back.

Draco's skin almost feels too tight as he catches Potter's eyes again. They look at each other and this time, Potter doesn't look away. Even across the room, Draco can see the determination on Potter's face, the way he clenches his jaw, how the muscles stand out on the side of his neck. When Draco drags his eyes back up, Potter's still watching him. Except for how this time, his eyes very deliberately drop down Draco's body, one slow look down then up.

Draco takes a drink. He watches Potter make his excuses to his friends and by the time Potter starts walking across the room, Draco's ready.

"Hello," Potter says.

Up close, he's almost too much. His green eyes are friendly as he looks at Draco, his face open and welcoming. He smiles and Draco's mouth goes dry. Potter's shirt is wrinkled in spots across his chest and his shirttails are untucked. He should look ridiculous, but Draco finds that the clothes add to Potter's general air of geniality.

"Potter," Draco says, finding it easy to fall back on long-ingrained formality. "Congratulations on the new position."

Potter shrugs ruefully. "Didn't really have much of a choice," he says, looking off to the side.

The wording jars a memory of Dumbledore in a travelling cloak and hat, sliding against the Astronomy Tower, clearly hurt, and still offering a hand to help.

"You always have a choice," Draco says.

Potter's gaze snaps back to Draco's face. He sticks his hands in his pockets. Draco watches the way Harry's shirt pulls across his shoulders. They're quiet for a moment, both of them looking at each other. They know there's a conversation that must be had, but neither of them is willing to start it.

"I heard you're the Ministry's new Curse-Breaker," Potter says.

"Yes, well, their old one died in the war," Draco says.

He waits for Potter to say something, to ask whether it was Draco's parents who murdered him. It'd been Goyle's father who'd done the actual killing, but it'd been in Draco's home. In their basement where, for a while, the bodies had piled up, until the Dark Lord named Peter Pettigrew official housekeeper.

"I'm glad that you're working for the Ministry," Potter says. "I heard you were good."

As opposed to what, Draco wants to ask. What else did Potter expect him to do? After the Manor? After everything?

Draco inhales and seethes quietly. "Of course, I'm good," he says, pushing out every word through the bile on his tongue. "I do know better than most how Dark artefacts work."

Potter winces. "I only meant that I'm glad you're trying to, you know, help with the restoration. I...Curse-Breaking seems like a meaningful, helpful job."

"The war's over," Draco says.

Potter looks at him again and that same curious expression from before is back. Something like fire lights up Potter's eyes. He sets his jaw, hands in his trouser pockets, as he looks at Draco.

"Yes," Potter says. "It is."

The silence this time is suffocating. They've been talking too long. They're attracting attention and Potter won't stop just looking at Draco with that same focused intensity. Draco darts a look to his left. He can just make out how the entirety of Potter's friend group has turned to look at the two of them. It's excruciating.

"Whatever you want to ask," Draco says, with every intention of ending this quickly. "Just ask it. I don't have the time to go around in circles with you."

"Okay," Potter says. "Why did you help us at the Manor?"

Draco opens his mouth, furious already, before he catches himself. It's not as though he expects Potter to know what happened on the Astronomy Tower with Dumbledore. But he'd thought Potter had understood him that night in the Infirmary their sixth year, when Potter had come into Draco's room and offered sympathy Draco hadn't deserved. He thought the whispered comfort was because Potter, too, might've understood that quiet internal crumbling. The way foundations could be shaken until they were no more and had to be rebuilt.

He'd thought that he wouldn't have to explain, so he's not prepared to do so now.

Instead, he fixes Potter with his coldest stare and says, "I didn't do it for you. If I'd turned you in, that would have been my mess to clean up, and I didn't particularly feel up to the task of scrubbing blood off my floors."

Potter looks at him, his gaze unwavering. "Thanks anyway," he says.

Draco would hit him if he thought he could get more than two paces before someone hexed him.

"Let's clear something up, Potter," Draco says instead. "Anything I did, or might have done, or will do, is never going to be about anyone but myself. Understood?"

Potter almost smiles and Draco wishes he was angry enough to miss how attractive it makes Potter look.

"I don't believe you," Potter says. "I was in the Astronomy Tower."

Draco was wrong, but that's nothing new. He can feel the new fury as though Potter has lit a fire underneath him. This is worse. It's worse that Potter knew what happened at the Astronomy Tower, what happened at the Infirmary, and still has to ask Draco why he did what he did at the Manor.

"Forget it," Draco says. "I'm leaving."

He turns to go, that layer of anger still simmering underneath his skin, a constant buzz that's carried Draco much farther than anything else in his life has ever done. His one constant companion. He can't do this today, can't handle Potter and the way he refuses to see what's right in front of his face. Draco did the things he did because Dumbledore had told him. Because Potter had said that he was sorry that Draco was hurting. Because somewhere inside the anger that masks a deeper panic, Draco knows it was the right thing to do. That these things he continues to do must be done so that he can survive. So that one day, Draco might be able to live with himself.

Potter doesn't stop him until Draco's by the fireplaces. Draco doesn't see him coming, doesn't expect the firm grip on his wrist, the sudden spike of something that feels almost like static electricity.

"Wait," Potter says.

Draco stills, every part of him tensed as his mind realises whose hands are on him. It's only Potter's hand, rough with callouses. Of course, it'd be Potter because who else would do work with his hands when he has a wand. That thought is enough to push against the wall Draco has built around himself. There's no mistaking the hand holding his wrist, no way to look up and see another face.

"Let go," he says, eyes only on self-preservation.

No one must know how much he still wants Potter because to admit to wanting something is to lose a part of himself, and Draco has so very few pieces left.

"Wait," Potter says again, his eyes darting between Draco and the rest of the room.

There are too many eyes, too many witnesses to what's happening, too many chances for Draco to make a mistake.

"Let go," Draco says, yanking his wrist out of Potter's hand. "Don't touch me."

Potter leans back on his heels and Draco can't meet his eyes. Draco turns again, grabs a pinch of Floo powder, and is gone before Harry Potter has a chance to ruin everything.

-

Malfoy Manor at night is a tomb. It hints at sinister things, decay and death, deep-rooted rot at the centre of its immense acres of land. The moonlight casts long shadows on the ground as Draco paces in front of the Manor's great oak doors. He made it back from the Ministry and slipped out, unseen, too many rooms and only the three of them allowing him that privacy. The Manor's practically empty now, its large waiting room gathering dust, the long table pushed to the side and covered with a white sheet, as though hiding the things that were done was that easy. Just a sweep under a cloth, the way Lucius Malfoy has swept away whoever he was before the war.

The Manor inside is filled with ghosts and the grounds outside are alive with a mass of writhing shades. The trees behind the Manor shake in the wind and the peacocks roam the space like lost spirits. He lives in a graveyard and Draco fears that if he stays too long, he'll begin to die as well.

He knows he can't go. His mother and father are inside the Manor at this moment. His mother's in bed, and his father...well, his father's not who he was before the war. Besides, Draco owes them. For that reason alone, he'll never leave.

It's his fault his mother has a scar running from her temple to the edge of her mouth. Draco hadn't been fast enough in getting what the Dark Lord had wanted, and his mother had received the punishment in his stead. She doesn't hold it against him, but she knows, the way Draco knows, that he's to blame. Not only for her but for Draco's father, for how the Dark Lord had released Lucius from Azkaban but had punished him for Draco's failure to kill Dumbledore. A lesson, so that Draco would never forget that he must always obey the Dark Lord.

In the distance, an owl hoots and Draco comes out of his thoughts. He walks from one edge of the Manor to the other, letting the night envelop him. He shivers even though the late August weather sets a warm night, and the Manor has its own weather spells for the purposes of people like Draco. Men and women of the Manor who needed to pace in front of the great Manor doors on nights when the weather was less favourable.

Draco knows he can't stop moving. To stop is to allow room for other memories. He walks and pictures his father, proud brow lowered now, his eyes darting to Draco's and away. There's an accusation there, a question or a statement that Lucius Malfoy wishes to make and hasn't. Like Potter had wanted to say something before Draco left and hadn't.

But this night is not for Potter. There's no one to tell, no sharer of secrets and so, that secret Draco must keep alone. It's new, knowing something and not giving it away to his mother or father. He's been sharing every piece of who he is with them, every story of failure against Potter and his friends, in the hopes that his parents might make things better. In return, they gave him broomsticks and tutors because Draco alone wasn't enough. He's never been enough unless he's doing what they want, and even then, he seems to disappoint them. But these days, these have become things of the past.

The Manor holds only what remains of the Malfoys, whatever ghosts they have become. Incorporeal and wandering, just missing each other. Always so close, but never quite enough. Not too different from before the war, but different just the same.

Draco's lost his parents and the aching hollow at the centre of his chest frightens him. He's never learned to be without them, so as he becomes a different person and they get further from him, he must reach out to keep them. For ghosts though they may all be, they have always been ghosts together. Draco must not allow their drifting ships to stray too far. He owes them, for letting Potter go and what that had meant when the Dark Lord showed up.

Draco reaches the edge of the oak Manor doors again and resigns himself to a restless night. He slips indoors and in front of the large fireplace, in the far wall, stands his father.

"Draco," Lucius says, startled. "I didn't know you were up."

Draco doesn't know what to say. This is new. For as long as he's been alive, Draco has always known how to talk to his father. Even when he was younger and Lucius would catch him crying, Draco had been able to explain himself, to find comfort in his father's stern way of teaching.

"Malfoys don't cry, Draco," Lucius had been fond of saying. "They survive."

So Draco doesn't cry. He carries his feelings for his father in his chest, rolled into a ball and pushed so far they may never reach him. In their place, Draco has put silence, a heavy thing that hangs over them all. He doesn't know how to make things better.

"I couldn't sleep," Draco says finally. "I took a walk in the gardens."

"You missed dinner," Lucius says. "Where have you been?"

"I was at a Ministry function."

That, at last, is enough to bring life into Lucius's face. For a moment, Draco feels fourteen, watching his father move with purpose, even as they stand on opposite sides of the room.

"Kinglsey's swearing-in?" Lucius asks. "Did you know, not even Zabini got an invitation?"

Draco does know. He nods.

"Oh, good, Draco, very good," Lucius says. "You did well I presume."

"Yes, Father," Draco says.

Outside, an owl hoots.

The seconds stretch and Draco waits. Lucius watches him, the light gone. Here they are, a man past his glory days and his son. A tangled web of misunderstandings and forgotten dreams.

Suddenly, Draco's tired. He turns to go, and just as he's stepping onto the grand staircase, Lucius speaks.

"Draco," he says. "I am proud of you for what you are doing for this family."

Draco closes his eyes against tears.

Malfoys don't cry, they survive.

"Thank you, Father," he says.


	5. Beginnings

The next morning dawns and Draco feels the inevitability of spring in the grey clouds outside his window. He slept maybe three hours last night but he stands from his bed knowing his mother will want him down for breakfast. He skips his usual hairstyling, choosing to focus on what he'll wear for his meeting with Kingsley this afternoon. It gives him an excuse to not think, to move on autopilot to the dining room.

The first thing Draco notices as he steps into the room is the absence of his father. His mother sits at her usual spot to the right of Lucius's seat, tea already in hand as she reads through the day's Prophet. The table is set for two.

"Good morning, Mother," Draco says, making his way to his chair across from her. "Is Father not coming down to breakfast?"

Narcissa Malfoy has never been a particularly expressive woman. Her actions often speak louder than her words, and when Draco sees the new set of robes next to his plate, he knows he's done something she approves of.

"For you," she says when Draco takes his seat. "Your father picked them up today."

"What?" Draco asks, the surprise getting the best of his manners.

Narcissa barely notices. She closes the Prophet and places it on the table so that the cover is facing Draco. The front page has a picture of Kingsley giving his speech and a side view of those in attendance. Draco spots Potter immediately, flanked on both sides by Weasley and Granger. Potter is not meant to be the focus, but the angle of the shot puts him as the immediate focus after Kingsley. Towards the back, Draco sees himself in profile and for a moment, he swears he's looking at his father. They have the same arrogant tilt to their heads, even when all they're doing is standing. But Draco knows that it's himself because his father has not left the estate since he was cleared of all charges, last year. Which is why the robes are a surprise.

"Where's Father?" Draco asks.

Narcissa folds her hands atop the table and smiles at Draco. "He is having breakfast with the Greengrasses this morning," she says. "He said something about not letting your efforts go to waste."

"Efforts?" Draco asks, starting to suspect he won't like what he's going to hear next.

"You were mentioned in the Prophet rather favourably. A trusted Ministry worker and a close friend to Harry Potter."

Draco can hear his heartbeat thundering in his ears. He knew there were too many people. He knew it wasn't safe. He knows he shouldn't have had so many drinks. He knows better than to get clumsy.

"A trusted friend?"

"Quite," his mother says, handing him the Prophet. "Page A3, near the bottom. Ignore the unpleasantness."

Draco knows immediately what she means by unpleasantness. Page A3 and A4 contain a double spread of Potter and Thomas taken just after Potter had announced he accepted Kingsley's job offer. In the photograph, Thomas hugs Potter and kisses his cheek as Granger and Weasley cheer. The words "ROMANCE AT THE MINISTRY OF MAGIC" blaze at the bottom of the page in Colour-Change ink.

Unpleasantness, his mother called it.

Draco finds that he can't look at her.

"I know," she says, mistaking his silence for agreement. "Harry Potter truly has a gift for making a spectacle of himself. Still, it doesn't hurt to be photographed together."

Draco finds what she's talking about on the most left-hand side of page A3, near the bottom. It's shot from behind Potter so that Draco's face is half-concealed. But it's enough. Impossible that his mother won't be able to tell the way Draco's eyes drag down Potter. Draco has revealed himself most terribly in the want that's clear on his face.

But Narcissa merely smiles and says, "Your father thinks he can make a good match now that things have settled down. He was thinking of coming by your office later today."

Draco nods. He takes care refolding the paper, smoothing out the edges to hide the way his fingers tremble.

"Of course, Mother," he says.

And they speak no more of it.

*

Harry didn't expect so many of his Auror training duties to indirectly involve Draco Malfoy. He had hoped to catch Malfoy eventually, especially after the way their conversation had ended at Kingsley's party. But Draco has been busy collecting Dark objects with his usual Auror team, and though Harry comes across Draco's paperwork more than he does anyone else's, they haven't had time to talk.

This is the only explanation for why Harry finds himself thinking about Malfoy so much. Of the way Draco looked the day of Kingsley's party, the bags under his eyes, the faded bruises on his left side that Harry knew came from Nott. Of the way Draco had left Kingsley's swearing-in party, the way he had seemed so angry at Harry's questions.

They have unfinished business. That's why Harry finds himself thinking about Draco so much. Even with Auror duties the past month, and his regular appointments with Dr Griffith, there seems to be enough time for Draco to slip in. Like, today, when Harry should be writing a birthday letter to Professor McGonagall, and instead he's in his office thinking about how he can get in touch with Draco Malfoy.

A case seems a poor excuse since Kingsley has kept Harry and Ron away from cases regarding cursed objects. He wants them focused on more immediate dangers. There's no reason Harry should worry about cursed objects when Malfoy is perfectly capable of handling those himself. Harry knows this because those were the words Kingsley had used when Harry had asked.

Instead, Harry's reading and rereading a file on a group of Voldemort fanatics who have named themselves the Dark Lord's Faithful. The single sheet of parchment that passes for a case file and the lack of photographs is driving Ron mad. They have nothing to go on but three different incidents tied to the same group. The group even uses a variation of the Dark Mark, a snake in the shape of an infinity symbol, and no one seems to have any information on who is in charge, or who the future targets may be.

Harry's one Ministry-approved form away from throwing the whole file in the garbage and getting Dawlish to put him on a different case. Even Neville's hunt for the man who is growing and selling Class C Non-Tradeable Materials sounds more interesting. Harry heard it was Venomous Tentacula seeds from an excited Neville.

But Dr Griffith had told Harry that he needed to find stability in his daily routine. Harry knows that dropping a case because he's bored is not in line with finding stability. And as Dr Griffith came recommended from Hermione's parents, Harry's going to have to find a better way to handle boredom. Especially now that his pills are working and he's been sleeping well at night.

Harry's initial reluctance to work full time as an Auror is mostly gone, too. He finds that, despite all the things he has found out since moving into the office he now shares with Ron and Neville, he has not had a single bad episode. He doesn't wake up screaming at night or forget to breathe whenever he thinks his scar might be hurting. He gets out more, spends proper time with Ron and Hermione, with Ginny and the rest of the Weasley's. With Dean and Seamus now that things have cooled with Dean. He's even managed to have dinner with Luna once in the last month.

Harry would say things were better if he didn't know that with his luck, they're not meant to stay that way.

Harry sighs and goes back to his file. He gets to the third line and decides he'll help Neville with his case instead. He gets up and Ron looks up hopefully from across the room.

"Is it lunchtime?" Ron asks. "Have you solved the case? Has there, in an incredibly lucky occurrence, been a fire? Please say we're being attacked. Should we evacuate?"

Harry laughs. "No," he says. "I gave up for today. I'm going to help Neville with his case. He was looking for an extra hand or two."

Ron gets up so fast he knocks over a cold cup of tea onto the file on his desk. He lets the tea soak into the pages a moment, heaves a great sigh, and waves his wand over his desk. The liquid flies back into the cup and the file lays on his desk, pristine and complete.

"Nice one," Harry says.

"Yeah, well, now that Hermione and I live together, it's easier to pick up her secrets," Ron says. "It's all about the hand movement and wanting the tea to go back into the cup more than I want the papers to dissolve. And I really, really wanted the papers to dissolve, so you better appreciate my wand skills."

"Always," Harry says solemnly.

Ron rolls his eyes, but Harry catches the smile he's trying to hold back.

"Oh, fine," Ron says, grinning. "I'm the best. Now let's go help Neville, and don't forget that you're invited to dinner at Mum's tonight."

Together, they make their way around the tomes of books Neville has laid between his desk and Ron's, and offer to help.

-

Dinner at Molly's is always a lively affair, but when Harry goes through the Floo after Ron that evening, it's to find the entire Weasley clan in an uproar. The living room is full of people crammed onto various pieces of furniture. Fred and George seem to be trying to fit themselves onto one armchair, with Charlie perched on one of the armrests. Fleur alone seems to be unbothered by whatever discussion the Weasley's are having. She sits on the loveseat with Bill, Victoire asleep in her arms.

Harry almost laughs, except he sees Mr Weasley's concerned expression as he talks to Ron and Percy. The scene is so familiar, Harry stops breathing. He does a quick headcount, panics as he miscounts and has to start again. Hermione is with her parents and once all the Weasleys are accounted for, he relaxes.

"What's going on?" he asks once the hammering of his heart calms down.

"Harry," Ginny says, spotting him first. "Come sit."

The whole room goes quiet for a moment as everyone turns to Harry. He waves. They wave back. Then, as though a massive swarm of bees has invaded the living room, the conversations pick up again.

"You should report him," Percy is saying to Mr Weasley. "It's not as though you were keeping Dark artefacts. It's just a motorcycle."

"A motorcycle with dragon fire," Mr Weasley says.

"That's barely a Class B Non-Tradeable," Fred calls. "You don't get that pulled as a Dark artefact."

"And we would know," George adds. "We've studied Wizarding Law extensively."

"For the purposes of upholding it, of course," Fred says at the look from Mrs Weasley.

"Hang on," Harry says. "What happened?"

"Malfoy took Dad's motorcycle," Ron says. "You know, the one Hagrid gave him."

Harry frowns. "What would Malfoy want with a bike?"

"Nothing good, I imagine," Ginny says. "He came by the house, asked if you were in, and when I said no, he asked to see the motorcycle."

"Mum let him have it because he had signed papers from Kingsley," Ron says.

"Forged obviously," Percy says.

Ron breaks away from the group and pulls Harry to the side.

"Listen, mate," he says, keeping his voice down. "Do you mind checking what that thing with Malfoy is about? I'd go, only, if I saw Malfoy's face right now, I'd have to jinx him and I only just got promoted."

"And I'm still a trainee, so I'm expendable?" Harry asks, raising an eyebrow.

"You know it," Ron grins. "Besides, you're you. If you hexed Malfoy, Kingsley would probably give you a promotion and apologize for the inconvenience."

Harry frowns, but Ron shakes him gently, and the motion is grounding in a way that surprises Harry.

"Okay," Harry says. "I'll go. Just buy me some time while I figure it out."

"Cheers, mate," Ron says with a wink.

Harry ducks out of the room and goes for the kitchen door. Once he's far enough, he turns on the spot and Disapparates.

-

From a distance, Malfoy Manor rises like a leviathan. Its immense peaks seem to claw their way to the sky, and the shining glass windows seem like sunken eyes looking out into the setting sun. Harry stands at the edge of the driveway, the tall hedges lit by a single bulb over the archway. He hasn't been here since before the Battle of Hogwarts.

This time, too, the large black wrought-iron gate dissolves into mist and a face emerges.

"State your purpose," the whispered voice says.

"Harry Potter here to see Draco Malfoy," Harry says.

The face dissolves again and Harry's left staring at a grey barrier with an almost gelatin-like consistency. He doesn't try to cross it and after a moment, the face reappears.

"Enter," it says, dissolving completely.

Harry passes through the archway and makes his way up the driveway. He can't see much except for the Manor up ahead and the hedges on his sides. Occasionally, he'll hear the sounds of birds in the distance and the distinct puff of a peacock opening its feathers.

By the time he makes it to the great oak doors, Draco has already pulled them open.

"Come in, Potter," he says, turning away quickly. "And do try to keep up."

In the time it takes Harry to step into the entrance hall, Draco's already halfway up the grand staircases. Harry spares one glance to make sure no one else is in the room and then follows after Malfoy. Harry has never been to the second floor of the Manor, and it helps ease the tension he didn't know he was holding to see the plain wooden doors lining the hall around the staircases.

Draco heads to the door furthest from where they came up, past a large floor to ceiling window that looks out into a vast green field with a fountain at its centre. Flowers in vibrant colours decorate the area around the fountain and Harry sees two lonely peacocks pecking at the ground. He wonders, vaguely, how it's possible for beauty to still exist in a place like Malfoy Manor.

When he turns, he sees Draco disappearing into a room at the corner. Harry takes one more glance at the fountain and follows after Draco.

The room is about the size of the boys' dormitory back at Hogwarts. In the centre is a large four-poster bed decorated in different shades of blue and cream. To the side of the bed are two walnut dressers, stained dark. Along the left wall are two doors that Harry assumes lead to the bathroom and a closet. To the far right is a small window overlooking the driveway. And behind the bed, across from a brick fireplace, is a floor to ceiling window that looks out onto a dense forest. The trees are so close together it seems to Harry that nothing could ever escape. Like the forest is guarding its secrets, jealously.

"What?" Draco Malfoy says finally. "Not what you expected?"

Harry looks at the blue and cream-coloured sheets, at the Slytherin banners that decorate the walls next to the bed. The silver and green clashes with the bright blues, but Harry senses that it was done on purpose. He looks back at Malfoy and comes to a sudden and painful understanding.

"You're really trying, aren't you?" he asks.

Draco's anger is immediate. He draws himself to full height, his nostrils flaring as he looks at Harry.

"Fuck you, Potter," he says viciously.

"No, wait," Harry says, stepping forward.

"Don't touch me," Draco says.

Harry stops, confused. He's nowhere near close enough to touch Draco. But Draco takes a step back anyway and hits one of the poles of his bed. He's shaking.

"Wait," Harry tries again.

He reaches out but doesn't try to move closer. He watches Draco glance at him, then the door, as though he's planning how to escape from his own bedroom.

"I need to talk to you," Harry says. "I just want to talk."

Draco inhales loudly and Harry doesn't really understand why he's so angry. If anyone should be angry, it should be Harry. He's the one who had to come to Malfoy Manor because Malfoy enjoys making life harder for the Weasleys. But even as he thinks it, this doesn't make sense with the picture of Draco Malfoy that Harry has started building in his head.

Draco's trying to be a better person. This realization soothes the part of Harry that still misses Dumbledore because Dumbledore had seen something in Draco. Dumbledore had perhaps planted a kernel that grew into the Draco that had helped them at the Manor. Into the Draco that works day after day to hunt down Dark artefacts. Perhaps, Harry thinks, some good may come from Dumbledore's death.

What doesn't make sense is the anger. The way Draco seems to be vibrating with it, his grey eyes almost glassy with how he's holding back his temper.

"You've been asking Kingsley about me," Draco says suddenly. "Why?"

Harry shrugs. "I wanted to talk to you."

Draco laughs sharply and shakes his head. "You have a boyfriend for that Potter."

Harry frowns, not understanding why Draco should bring Dean up. Harry remembers the article in the Prophet the day after Kingsley's swearing-in. He winces as he recalls the influx of mail from brokenhearted fans he received in the days following. Dean had taken it in stride and after a while, the whole thing had died down. But why that should concern Draco, Harry doesn't know.

"I don't have a boyfriend," Harry says.

"I don't care what you do or don't have, Potter," Draco says, pushing off from his bedpost. "This isn't about you, no matter how much you may want it to be."

Harry takes a step forward. He's within Draco's arms reach. One more step and they would be nearly touching.

"What is this about, Malfoy?"

Draco opens his mouth and Harry stares at him, trying to understand what they're talking about. It feels as though there are two conversations happening and Harry's privy to neither. He frowns and takes an involuntary step forward, watches the way Draco's eyes drop almost unwillingly to Harry's mouth. And in a single, sobering jolt, Harry understands.

"Fuck," he whispers.

They stay frozen for a second. Harry stares wide-eyed as he realigns what he knows of Malfoy to make sense of what's happening at this moment. He thinks back to Kingsley's party, to the violent way Draco had reacted to Harry's touch. He thinks of the boy's bathroom in their sixth year, of the way Draco had shut down completely when Harry caught him crying. He thinks of the carefully crafted control that's characterized Draco Malfoy's interaction with everyone, always, except for Harry. The way that his cool façade gave way to anger whenever Harry was near, how there had been a single instance where Draco had dropped that mask at the Infirmary at Hogwarts. How for one moment, Draco Malfoy had seemed only human and nothing more.

And slowly, so slowly, Harry allows himself to look at Draco standing in front of him, at the way his hair falls onto his forehead, his grey eyes, the slope of his fine nose. Carefully, Harry lets his eyes drop to Draco's mouth.

"So," Harry says on a shaky exhale.

"Shut the fuck up," Draco says, closing the distance between them.

Harry feels the first brush of contact like a stab. Then Draco's hands find his hair and his teeth and tongue find Harry's neck. Harry shudders against the jolt that runs like electricity up his back. He can feel Draco almost vibrating in his arms as Harry pushes them back towards the bed. He wants Draco against the bed so that he can press down and feel every part of Malfoy against him.

They tumble backwards, Draco's hands pulling at Harry until he can wrap his legs around Harry's lower back. Harry buries his face in Draco's neck and presses himself hard against Draco until they both groan. Draco holds on tighter, one hand around Harry's neck as Harry licks up his neck. Draco's other hand is working at pulling Harry's shirt out of his jeans. Harry pulls back, let's his mouth trail down Draco's neck, and then, very deliberately, pushes against Draco's legs.

Draco throws his head back and lets out a single, quiet, "Fuck."

Harry hears Draco inhale shakily before he sits up to shove Harry off of him. Harry leans back and Draco takes the opportunity to press Harry down against the mattress. Harry waits as Draco starts to work at his own belt. He reaches forward to help, but Draco knocks his hand away.

"Don't move," Draco says.

Harry drops his hands onto the bed. "Okay," he says. "Okay."

"Not enough time," Draco murmurs, reaching out to undo Harry's belt.

"For what?" Harry asks.

Draco looks up even as he works Harry's jeans and underwear down just enough to free Harry's cock. They pause there, with Draco's hands on Harry. Just enough that Harry's hands twitch against the bedsheets.

"I'm going to tell you something and you're going to listen," Draco says, tightening his hand on Harry's cock. "I'm going to take you apart. And when I'm done, you're going to get the fuck out of my house."

"Why are you so mad at me?" Harry asks, shivering as Draco lets go.

"Bedside table," Draco says, instead.

Harry reaches over and pulls open the top drawer. His hand closes around a bottle of lube. He hands it to Draco and the next time Draco touches Harry, the slide is wet and tight. Draco leans down and presses his body against Harry's, his mouth by Harry's ear. His hand works up and down Harry's cock, slowly at first as Draco gets used to the angle. His mouth is hot against Harry's ear.

"Do you have any idea how long I've wanted this?" Draco asks, his face brushing against the side of Harry's. "I want you to fuck me. Want you to touch me."

He punctuates his sentences with a twist of his hand, and Harry throws his head back, and says, "Let me, please, let me."

But Draco shakes his head against Harry's, his knees shoving Harry's legs as far apart as Harry's jeans allow. Until Harry gets the hint and wraps his legs around Draco's lower back. Until they're breathing against each other's ears and Harry gathers enough bravery to get his hands under Draco's shirt. To feel the warm skin against his fingers, as Draco presses even closer, both of them choking off a moan as Draco squeezes his hand reflexively.

Harry can feel his orgasm building as he lies there with Draco on top of him, the smell of Draco's shampoo overwhelming in the space between their faces. Harry wants to kiss him, but Draco says, "Don't move," and Harry lies still.

They're pressed together so tight Harry can feel Draco's hand against his stomach, feel his hard cock brush against Harry's whenever Draco shoves his hips forward. Harry tightens his legs around Draco, says, "Please, just—"

Draco must understand because he bites down on the side of Harry's neck and starts moving his hand faster against Harry. And Harry imagines he had time, and Draco Malfoy naked under him, and they were kissing. He imagines Draco on his knees, his grey eyes on Harry the entire time Harry was fucking his mouth. How would it feel to get his hands in Draco's hair and pull until he could fit his mouth on Draco's neck?

"Want you to fuck me," Draco says, roughly.

"Yes," Harry says as he comes.

*

Draco sits at the edge of his four-poster bed and says nothing. He can feel Potter's eyes on the back of his neck. Just the thought of Harry in his bed is enough to send a jolt of desire down Draco's spine. He imagines Harry's mouth against his neck again, the way his fingers had tightened against Draco's back as he came. The quiet groans and Harry's mouth on Draco's ear as he said, "Wanna fuck you. Please."

Draco shivers at the edge of his bed and says, "You have to go."

He can hear Harry stretching out against the bed, the rustling of sheets as he gets up.

"Are you okay?" Harry asks.

Draco finally turns to him and it's worse than he imagined because it always is. Harry stands by the foot of the bed, his shirt untucked, hair a mess, and a bright red mark on the side of his neck. He looks wide-eyed and sated, an understanding in the way he regards Draco. Like he knows something and is waiting for Draco to figure it out.

"I'm fine," Draco says. "Are you?"

Harry grins and there's so much boyish charm in his smile that Draco can't help but smile back.

"Go," he says. "And tell Weasley I'll have his Muggle contraption back to him tomorrow."

Harry hesitates, still watching Draco. He bites his lip and Draco swallows. It seems ridiculous that Draco wants to get his hands all over Harry when Draco just had him in his bed a few moments ago. But that's what this is, the lingering stares, the way Harry has his eyes fixed on the side of Draco's neck. How Draco's hands are shaking in his lap. It would be so easy for Draco to lay back down, spread his legs and invite Harry between them.

"Draco...Malfoy. I…"

"Your glasses," Draco says, noticing the smudges.

"Oh," Harry says, pulling his glasses off and looking away from Draco.

It's almost like he's embarrassed. Draco can't imagine what it is about dirty glasses that have Potter almost blushing.

Draco stands and holds his hand out. Potter tilts his head and frowns at Draco, but hands his glasses over. The spell is simple enough, a quick _Scourgify_ and Potter's glasses are clean. Draco gives them back and Potter puts them on. Then, Potter gives Draco a look that's almost soft and everything in Draco cowers away. He opens his mouth to say something angry and the turning doorknob registers just a second too late.

"Draco?"

It's as if everything in the world has come to a standstill, a single moment of terrible stillness where even the air seems frozen on its way to Draco's lungs. Draco has enough time to take in Potter's dishevelled state, the bright red mark on his neck like horrible proof of a crime. Then, Lucius steps into Draco's room, looks around, sees Harry Potter, and frowns.

Draco doesn't know what his face looks like, doesn't dare to look at himself and his own clothes. He catches Harry's eyes and the complete lack of fear there only serves to double the beating of Draco's heart. Potter doesn't know. He doesn't understand what's happening so Draco has to be the one to speak here to prevent disaster.

"Father," he says and it's a relief to hear that his voice isn't shaking. "We have a guest."

"Ah, yes," Lucius says. "Good evening, Mr Potter."

Harry looks between Draco and Lucius. Draco can see him trying to work out things he has no possible way of understanding.

"Harry was just leaving," Draco says.

"On a first-name basis," his father says. "It is good to know you're making friends, Draco. Although, you know better than to be caught half-dressed."

"Yes, Father," Draco says, willing Potter to just stay quiet, to let this pass.

Lucius nods, turns to Harry, says, "Good evening, Mr Potter," and walks out the door.

Draco exhales shakily and closes his eyes. He can feel Harry watching him.

"Your father doesn't know," Harry says.

Draco opens his eyes and turns his cool grey stare on Harry. "There's nothing to know," he says.

Harry looks at him, continues to stare past the point when Draco would have looked away. "Okay," he says. "I get it."

But he can't possibly understand it, the delicate intricacies of Draco's life, the way everything is placed just so. Potter doesn't know about the girls who have passed through Draco's bed. He dated Pansy for a while, had a proper girlfriend. There's nothing else to understand because even if anything else existed, there is no way Draco can do anything about it. Not anywhere it would matter. Not anywhere anyone could see.

"I'll walk you out," he tells Harry.

"Okay," Harry says, motioning Draco forward.

Draco gets to his door and has a hand on the doorknob when Harry steps up behind him. He's close enough that Draco can feel the heat coming from his body. Draco inhales and the sound is loud in the absolute silence of the room. Harry's hand comes up to push Draco's head forward, just a quick press of fingers on Draco's skull. Draco drops his head, shivers as he waits, and closes his eyes as Harry's lips touch the back of his neck.

"Thank you," Harry whispers. "This was fun."

"Likewise," Draco says, swallowing past his dry throat.

Harry steps back, Draco opens the door, and together they make their way downstairs.

-

Draco can't stop thinking of Potter, of his green eyes and that knowing expression on his face. Of the way his smile is so casually disarming. He can't escape Potter at home because his father asks after Potter whenever Draco makes the mistake of being alone with him.

"You want this friendship, Draco," his father will say. "This will be good for us all. You'll see."

At work, everywhere Draco goes, he hears Potter's name. He's in everyone's mouth. It's impossible that he wasn't before and so, Draco must conclude that it's him, that he's the one who's paying attention now. It's this realization more than anything else that terrifies Draco. For these are dangerous thoughts and he must always make sure to stay clear of things he can't have.

And yet, whenever Draco closes his eyes, he can see Potter beneath him, his mouth red from where he'd bitten his lip. One second alone in his bedroom and Draco can almost feel Harry's hands on his back, the wet slide of his tongue on Draco's neck. The press of his lips on the back of Draco's neck, the heat from his body.

These thoughts are dangerous in a different way, controllable in their wildness. Draco's familiar with the heat that pools low in his belly at the thought of Potter. With the tensing in his muscles as he sits at his cubicle in the Office for the Removal of Curses, Jinxes, and Hexes. Potter isn't far away and this, too, means trouble.

They're on the same floor, two long hallways away from each other.

But Draco has an important task from Kingsley now and more self-control than he's exhibiting at the moment. So he sits and goes through the file Kingsley gave him, reads and rereads until he's sure he could pull the information from memory. He was told to burn the files afterwards. He was told to tell no one. He's still not sure what made him say yes, why he keeps saying yes to things he knows will bring more trouble than good in the end.

At lunchtime, Draco intends to go for a walk, work some of the tension off his body. He's up when he remembers the small stack of files on the left side of his desk. They detail the last raid on Borgin and Burkes. It's the last case he's taking until he's done with what Kingsley's asked of him. He thinks of dropping the paperwork off at the Auror office. He knows Potter's the one reviewing his notes. Draco has a stack of things to file with Potter's signature scrawled at the bottom of each page. Not that Draco has to be the one to hand the papers in. He could just send them off in one of the chutes at the far wall and they'd get to Potter eventually. There is no reason for Draco to start things he knows he'll be unable to finish.

He looks down at his desk, at the stack of papers, and snatches them up. The lifts are, after all, by the Auror department.

Now that Draco's made up his mind, he finds that the rest comes easy. He barely notices the number of eyes directed his way as he heads for the Auror offices. Potter's is at the left-hand side, farthest from the lifts. When Draco gets there, his skin is buzzing.

"Potter," he says.

Harry looks up, glances to his right. Draco looks, too, but all he can see are books stacked so high they obscure the desk behind them. In front of Potter is a third desk, paperwork half-falling to the sides, but otherwise abandoned.

Draco turns back to find Potter's eyes on him, on his chest, and down his body. Draco swallows as Potter gives him a very thorough once over. Their eyes meet and Draco lets his gaze linger on Potter's mouth.

"It's lunchtime," Draco says.

Potter stands and Draco watches him, his skin alight with something almost like liquid. They're closer than they've been in weeks, a single desk in between the two of them. Suddenly, it's so easy for Draco to imagine himself pushing Potter back down onto that chair, to imagine himself following after.

"Let's have lunch," Harry says.

Draco licks his lips. "Sounds good," he says, even though neither of them is talking about eating.

-

It's such a relief to have Potter's hands on him, to feel him on top of Draco. They fuck and nothing changes, except that now Draco knows what it feels like to have Harry Potter's teeth on the back of his neck.

So they do it again.

And again.

In the safety of Potter's bedroom and in the dark hallways of Grimmauld Place. On Draco's bed when no one is home, against the doorframe of Draco's bathroom, and against the wall next to the fireplace. So many places that Draco loses count and still, nothing changes.

There is no grand revelation. No moment of clarity. Draco Malfoy does not love Harry Potter. He's nothing more than a means for release, replaceable. What they do is nothing more than what boys do in their misspent youth, and that's the most wonderful thing in the world.


	6. Episodes

October brings a drop in temperature so steep that Harry has to pull on an extra jumper whenever he goes out for his morning walks around the neighbourhood. He takes to small side streets where the buildings protect him from most of the wind, and starts stopping by the little sheep-themed cafe four streets past King's Cross Station. He goes so often, the bored university student behind the counter memorizes his order and most of the time, Harry can just walk in, pick it up, and head back out.

Walking past King's Cross Station is an afterthought on most days. It's hard to picture groups of wizards with trolleys when the streets around the station are full of Muggles on their way to and from work. He finds that the proximity to the river and to the busier boutiques gives everything a very specific city feeling. There is not enough pause for King's Cross to feel empty, no white endless corridor or awaiting Headmasters.

But the October chill comes early that year and the leaves on the trees seem to turn orange from one day to the next. Harry starts seeing costumes on the shop windows he passes and the little Black Sheep Cafe starts serving pumpkin-flavoured everything. Orange and black, plastic jack o' lanterns pop up every other house down Grimmauld Place and the Ministry's welcome desk has live bats floating next to suspended candles.

Harry can't ignore that it'll be Halloween soon.

He marks the date on his calendar at Grimmauld Place, mentions it in passing to Ron, who mentions it to Hermione, who places an order for white lilies.

As the days get closer to Halloween, Harry finds it just a little harder to get up for his walks in the morning. The weather doesn't get better, the clouds threaten rain, and Harry takes the opportunity to sleep just an hour longer every day. He stops calling Draco but shows up whenever Draco calls him. When he doesn't have anything to do, Harry spends his days dozing or flipping through his old photo album, past the first few pages that contain pictures of Teddy.

He keeps his parents towards the end, where the pages are cleaner and his fingers haven't dulled the corners yet. His favourite picture is the one with his mum and dad dancing together under falling leaves. He stares at that picture and imagines them in the backyard at Godric's Hollow, both of them barely nineteen and with no idea of the things that are coming. It's difficult coming to the realization that Harry's the same age as they are in that picture, that with luck, soon, he'll have lived longer than they ever did.

He doesn't like to linger on those thoughts so he takes his pills, one little, white one in the morning and a small, pink one at night. He makes appointments with Dr Griffith and his psychiatrist, just routine follow-ups. Nothing out of ordinary. Everything as it should be.

-

Harry expects the knock on his door the Friday before Halloween. Saturday is Mrs Weasley's birthday, and if there's a day for Ron and Hermione to come and keep him company, it'll be the Friday before Halloween. He expects the knock on his door and Hermione climbing in with a wrapped dish. He expects Ron and his windblown hair, complaining about how Grimmauld Place is never warm enough. But he doesn't expect Ginny to be with them.

She shrugs when she sees Harry and says, "Got out of practice early. Ron said you needed the company."

"Did he?" Harry says, looking over his shoulder at Ron.

"Well, you do," Ron says, making a face. "And it's no use pretending like you don't. Hermione will just make worried faces at you until you admit it."

"Oh, I'm the one making faces, am I?" Hermione calls from down the hallway. "If I remember correctly, you were the one who kept trying to get us to leave your mum's early."

"I didn't want to miss the train."

"Ron," Hermione calls. "We Apparated."

"Men," Ginny says, shaking her head sadly in Ron's direction.

She winks at Harry and makes her way down the hallway and into the kitchen. Harry stays a moment at the front door, letting the wind blow in through the entrance. He can see what he knows is a Prophet photographer across the street. Two streets down is a second photographer, the one that likes to hide behind small hedges. But for now, Harry's safe in his home, on steps no one can see unless he invites them. In a place that's his and that he doesn't have to leave.

Inside, he hears the clattering of plates and what sounds like all his spoons hitting the floor. Ron's curse is loud enough that Harry glances at the portrait of Sirius's mom on instinct. But the curtains stay closed, the way they have ever since Harry moved in. He doesn't know what happened. The last time he saw Sirius's mother was before they went to the Ministry, before the locket and what came after.

Harry shuts the front door and follows the noise to the kitchen. He's choosing to be with them, to go into the warmth and forget that he knows the quickest way to disappear into the streets of Islington.

-

"So," Ginny says, once everyone is on their second helping of treacle tart. "You have a hickey."

Harry stops with his fork halfway to his mouth and looks up at her. Ginny raises an eyebrow and motions to the side of her neck. She lifts her cup of tea to hide her smile and Ron turns his head so fast, it looks like it hurts.

"I thought you said you and Dean were done?" Ron asks.

Harry, who expected an ambush of sorts, shrugs. He goes back to his treacle tart and ignores the very pointed glance Hermione sends his way.

"Oh," Ginny says. "Is it a secret?"

The thing is, it normally wouldn't be a secret. Ron and Hermione know that Harry doesn't keep secrets. He has never seen a reason to hide anything from Ron and Hermione and he trusts Ginny. But Harry also knows that whatever is happening between Draco and himself isn't something that he has a right to share.

Harry hasn't missed the way Draco rarely allows himself to come over to Grimmauld Place. Most things that happen between him and Draco occur when Draco knows no one will be in his home. Or when Harry has triple checked that no one will come to Grimmauld Place. Most often, they manage to sneak in hurried handjobs, always with an ear out for whoever might catch them. Even when Draco lets go and Harry knows he's too far gone to be thinking of nothing but his pleasure, it's like Draco's anxiety is contagious. Harry has found himself half-focused on the outside world, attuned to even the smallest changes in background noise.

But it's good. It's refreshing and fun in a way Harry hadn't expected. Everything from the initial eye contact to that certainty that something good is about to happen for both of them is invigorating. Harry finds that he enjoys the way Draco's so focused one moment and completely hands off the next. How Harry is starting to learn things about Draco's job, about his life, about his family in the spaces left over.

It's good. It's fun. That's all that matters.

"So," Ginny says when Harry has let the silence run too long. "If it's not Dean, who is it?"

"It's nothing," Harry says.

Hermione takes a sip of her tea and then, very casually, says, "Well, either you've been seeing someone, or you've had some trouble with your vacuum cleaner."

Harry sees Ron mouth "vacuum cleaner?" at Ginny and gives Hermione a blank look. She rolls her eyes in Ron and Ginny's general direction and stares back. Harry pretends like he's not going to tell her everything eventually, and says, "I can't talk about it."

"Bullshit," Ron and Ginny say.

"I really can't," Harry says. "He's not really telling anyone yet."

"About you?" Ron asks. "Why?"

It's nice, Harry thinks, to sit in his home and talk to his friends, to let Ron get angry over imagined affronts to Harry's honour. It's comforting that after all these years together, after the war and what came next, Ron and Hermione, and even Ginny, are all still here. That he can let their conversation push back the tightness in his chest and the intruding thoughts that linger at the back of his mind most days. Thoughts that are starting to get louder now that it's almost Halloween. Things that are expected, even though they haven't happened before.

Dr Griffith assures Harry these things are to be expected.

Harry inhales, counts to ten, and turns back to the conversation at hand.

"It's not about me. He's not out yet," Harry says. "But I'm okay with that. It's fun. We're just having fun."

Hermione looks at Harry, her eyes narrowed in concentration as though she's trying to see through him. Harry shrugs and waits for her to be satisfied with what she sees. Depending on her mood and on whatever she may think she sees on Harry's face, she'll either bring it up later or dismiss the matter. Harry's almost certain this requires a separate conversation when Hermione has had the time to gather talking points and counterarguments. So he's surprised when Hermione nods, and says, "Okay, as long as you promise you're doing all right."

"I promise," Harry says.

That should settle the matter, but Ron takes a pointed sip of his tea and then, so casually it must be hurting him, he says, "It's late, isn't it? Don't fancy taking the train at this hour. Mind if we stay?"

Harry imagines the empty rooms filled with the sounds of laughter, with Ron's casual joking and Hermione's fond reprimands. He can see how easily Ginny would fit in that, how her own brand of sarcastic humour would play off Ron's. Harry thinks, perhaps, Hermione was right a long time ago. He doesn't have to do everything himself.

"I'm sure I can find some room," he says.

-

They go for a walk Saturday morning, Ron and Ginny up ahead, pretending they aren't racing. Hermione and Harry follow, and though Harry can feel all of Hermione's worried tension next to him, he understands it's only because she wishes she could make things better for him.

"I'm okay," he tells her.

Hermione smiles at him. "I know," she says, taking his hand.

"You better not," Harry tells her, amused. "You don't want the Prophet stories tomorrow to be about how you've left Ron to run away with me."

Hermione laughs. "Don't you know? I've secretly married and divorced him three times over the last two months. Just last week, we were seen off the coast of Ireland on what was supposed to be our wedding anniversary."

Harry glances over his shoulder but the Prophet reporter still hasn't caught up with them. He has faith in Hermione's Confundus Charm, but it's ingrained instinct to check. He's jumpier than he has been since the end of the war. He chalks it up to his new job, to the case file that still sits at his desk in his office. To Kingsley's cryptic message that he's planning something and will need Harry's help. He knows that there's some answer in all of the muddled paperwork. It's a gut feeling, as though Harry already knows what this is about and just needs to remember.

"Hey, Hermione," he says. "Have you heard of Mafalda Hopkirk?"

"Yes," Hermione says, frowning. "I know the name. She was in the Prophet, reported missing, presumed dead. It's that rubbish with the Faithful Servants to the Dark Lord."

"The Dark Lord's Faithful," Harry corrects. "I know. Her name's in the file. She used to work at the Ministry. Improper Use of Magic Office."

"Oh," Hermione says, suddenly. "Hopkirk. She was the witch I turned into when we went looking for the locket."

"She's the only witch that's been killed so far," Harry says. "Everyone else is just a random Muggle. One in London. One in Devon. And one in—"

"Wiltshire," Hermione says, coming to a stop.

Harry frowns. "Yeah," he says. "How did you know?"

"Harry," Hermione says, grabbing his arm. "All of those are places we've been. Where you've been. We fought the Death Eaters in London. Devon was the World Cup. And—"

"And Wiltshire was Malfoy Manor," Harry finishes for her. "I should have caught that."

"Oh, Harry," Hermione says. "You can't be expected to remember everything. So much has happened since the war. You've done so much and we all just tried to...move on since then."

Harry shakes his head. He knows better than that. He knows that things don't just settle. The world doesn't just shift into peace without someone kicking and screaming to keep it the old way. Harry never tried to move on, not really. He tries to do better, to make up for his mistakes. To fix some of what has been broken. But he never tries to move on. Not from Sirius, or Dumbledore, or Lupin, or Tonks. It doesn't seem right.

He should have made the connection weeks ago.

"I have to go," he says, now. "I need to tell Robards. Kingsley. Someone."

"Harry," Hermione says. "Just wait a minute. You can't go into the Ministry today. It's Molly's birthday."

Up ahead, Ron and Ginny finally notice that Harry and Hermione aren't following them. Harry sees them turn back, watches them notice Hermione wringing her hands. He should go. He should do something.

"Hey," Ron says, looking from Hermione to Harry and back. "What's going on?"

"The case," Harry says. "The one you keep wanting to chuck into the bin. Hermione's solved it."

Ron turns to Hermione and Harry watches them communicate silently. He turns to head in the other direction and finds himself face to face with Ginny.

"Someone's trying to murder Harry again, aren't they?" Ron says, sounding resigned. "And us by extension?"

"Someone's trying to send Harry a message," Hermione says. "If they were trying to murder him, they could have done so many times already. It's not like the Prophet doesn't publicize everything about Harry, anyway."

"Someone's trying to murder Harry?" Ginny asks. "I need someone to fill me in. Over tea."

Harry opens his mouth to argue, to make them understand. He can't get coffee when people are dying again because of him.

Ron sighs. "Are we really surprised? I mean, what did we expect from a group who calls themselves the Dark Lord's Faithful?"

"We have to do something," Harry says.

Ron shakes his head. "We can do something about it after coffee and tea," he says, reaching out to give Harry's shoulder a firm shake. "First, we go see your teashop, maybe get some scones, send an owl, and then we go to Mum's."

Harry looks from Ginny to Hermione, but neither of them looks like they're about to argue with Ron.

"No," Ron says.

Harry opens his mouth to argue one last time, but Ron squeezes his shoulder again and it's easier to focus on the pressure. Harry closes his eyes, breathes in as Dr Griffith taught him, counts to ten and exhales. Ron's right, Harry knows. There's nothing he can do at the moment. Nothing he'll be able to do even if he were to go into the Ministry. He's in training and cases like these get handed off to the more experienced Aurors.

"I should send a Patronus," Harry says.

Ron nods, throws his arm around Harry, and pulls Harry into step beside him. "Yes," he says. "A Patronus is a good idea."

*

Kingsley tells Draco to pack a travel bag and keep it close.

"You never know when you might need to leave the country in a hurry," he had said.

Draco packs a travel bag and goes over the finer details of this plan. He's to very slowly start cultivating the persona of a disgruntled Ministry employee. A disgruntled reformed Death Eater turned believer to the Dark Lord again.

"Sounds like Auror work," Draco had said.

Kingsley had merely smiled and said, "Yes. Yes, it does."

Draco knows there's more to this than Kingsley is letting on. It feels significant to be handed an assignment and trusted this way. He knows when it's all over, things will be different for his parents and himself, and if he has to endure speculation and mistrust again, well, it's something he's accustomed to already. The benefits waiting at the end of what Kingsley has given him far outweigh the bad. This is a gift, perhaps a chance, so Draco packs a travel bag and looks up Gringotts jobs. He figures a trip to Albania is a good start.

*

Godric's Hollow is lit by street lamps every few houses. The spaces in between sink into the shadows, except where lanterns on porch steps along the main street, keep the darkness at bay. It's eleven at night when Harry, Ron, and Hermione Apparate in front of Bathilda Bagshot's house. The house sits by itself along the main street, safe from Muggle eyes. The grass in its garden has started to climb up along the brick foundations of the house. The weeds slowly make their way up the front door, like fingers stretching up to the doorknob. This is what's left of Bathilda Bagshot's house. Crumbling, it waits for long lost relatives to claim it.

They've picked her house because it's not watched. Harry can take a moment as the Aurors Kingsley sent with him, go out to take a look. Last night, Harry had sat with Kingsley at his kitchen table, nursing a cup of tea and listening to the plan going forward. The case with the Dark Lord's Faithful had been kicked up two levels in priority, Reginald Cattermole had been given Ministry protection, and Harry now has two Aurors who are in charge of keeping watch over him whenever he leaves Grimmauld Place.

Harry had protested, had said that because there were so few Aurors, their time would be better spent chasing down leads. Maybe looking for Runcorn, who had gone missing after the end of the war. Kingsley had assured Harry that everything was being taken care of. That just for the weekend, Harry would have to trust the Ministry to do its job.

It had taken a good hour to plan how Harry's visit to Godric's Hollow was going to go. It was predicted that it would take him a minute and a half to walk to his parents' grave, thirty seconds to lay down the wreath of lilies Hermione had ordered, and a minute and a half back. The mechanics of it had changed things for Harry. To have this laid out in metres and minutes, in the amount of time Harry was allowed to mourn, sat wrong with him. They had planned how this would go and even if Harry had wanted more time, there would be too many people.

It had felt wrong when he had done this the first year after the war, too. Back then, he had run into a group of photographers and well-wishers wanting to keep him company. Harry had only wanted to be alone with Ron and Hermione. Instead, he'd had to endure the flashing lights and the "sorrys" from the crowd. It had been an experience he hadn't wanted to repeat, but he knew also that there was nothing that would keep him from Godric's Hollow on Halloween. Not now that he has found his parents.

"We're ready, Mr Potter," one of the Auror's says, sticking his head inside the house.

Harry nods. He, Ron, and Hermione each cast their own Disillusionment Charms and head out. The cobblestone streets are quiet, the orange hue of the street lights casting spotlights on the house porches. Harry can hear Ron and Hermione behind him and farther in the distance, the quiet murmur of a large crowd. He knows they'll be at his parents' place, laying down flowers and writing messages on the little plaque. Harry will go next week to clear up the dead flowers and read the new messages.

Now, he turns towards the church and the graveyard next to it. He slips in through the fence as Hermione and the two Aurors fan out along the perimeter. Ron follows after Harry, his hand in his pocket, casual as he looks around once.

There are no people in the graveyard and Harry's thankful for the small privacy he's been granted. Ron stops a few rows of headstones away from Lily and James's tomb and hands Harry the wreath of lilies.

"I'll be right here, mate," he says.

Harry nods and heads off on his own. The ground underneath is soft from the rain earlier in the morning, the leftover water seeping into Harry's trainers. In the dim light from the street, Harry sees his parents' headstone is empty save for a bouquet of roses that someone must have left, earlier. Harry lays down the wreath of lilies, stands for a moment just staring at his parents' names, and waits for the thundering in his heart to die down.

Harry wants to say it's the change in weather and knowing that there's more to the Dark Lord's Faithful than everyone originally thought. There had been many groups in the first year after the war, small bands of Death Eaters and their sympathizers, who had wanted to make the Ministry's job harder. There had even been Muggle kidnappings and one or two witch and wizard abductions. But no one had tried to hurt Harry after the war. There had been too much protection around him. He was too visible, and despite how much he may hate the press, he knows, it was mostly due to them that he and his friends had been protected from the more fanatical groups.

But now, here he is again at the centre of another uprising. Another group of people who want to punish him and are willing to hurt innocent people to do it. It's that this time Harry's better prepared but isn't allowed to do anything about it. If he could go out himself, it would be different. He wouldn't feel quite so useless.

He knows that things are different now that he's not at the centre of a prophecy concerning a Dark wizard. He can hang back, file his other paperwork, focus on what he's doing with his life, with Draco. Maybe he'll get a pet, finally. Something alive that needs him to be alive and well.

Harry shakes his head and decides he'll call Dr Griffith in the morning. Maybe head to Ron and Hermione's for the night so that he's not alone with his thoughts. He turns, intending to go back to Ron, spots a blond head walking past the edges of the cemetery.

He thinks of Malfoy, of the snippy retorts, and the abandon with which they have their fun. Maybe, he'll call Draco.

"All right, Harry?" Ron calls when Harry's close enough to hear him.

Harry is two rows of headstones away when it happens. There's a crack that pierces the night, a sound like breaking thunder that reverberates through the graveyard. Harry ducks behind the nearest headstone, drawing his wand. He hears Ron yell, a flash of red light, and the sound of crumbling rock.

"Potter," a voice calls through the darkness. "Come out, come out."

"Harry, stay down," Ron calls out.

Harry tightens his grip on his wand and raises his head above the headstone. He can make out one lone figure in the distance, to the left of where Harry is. Ron's head comes up over his headstone and Harry takes the opportunity to send a hex over to the black-cloaked figure. His spell hits a Shield Charm and there's a flash of blue and red light that's almost blinding.

"I just want to talk," the voice calls out.

Harry sees the figure in the distance hold their hands up, their wand pointed downwards.

"Drop the wand," Harry calls.

He stands. He can see Ron doing the same as he edges closer to Harry. The cloaked figure in the distance takes a step forward into the light and Harry sees the small beady eyes first. He recognizes the sneer on the woman's face as she looks at him.

"Alecto Carrow," Ron says.

Just like that Harry's back at Hogwarts, running through the corridors, wand in hand as curses fly over his head. He can almost taste the thickness of magic in the air, like smoke in his lungs. And it's the change in weather, the fact that they're metres away from his parents' graves. It's that Harry knows deep down what Alecto is going to say next, as though part of him has been waiting for this moment. He knows what's coming.

"The Dark Lord sends his regards, Potter," she says.

" _Expelliarmus_ ," Harry yells, just as Ron raises his wand.

Alecto's wand goes flying and Harry raises his hand in the air reflexively. Ron's spell hits Alecto in the chest and she topples over, cutting off mid-laughter.

It's the weather, Harry thinks. It's just the change in weather and the case, and Kingsley telling him that there was nothing Harry could do. He knows Voldemort is dead. Harry saw the body and his scar hasn't hurt in almost two years. He knows that Alecto can't be speaking the truth, that this is a distraction for something else.

It's not that Harry's afraid of Voldemort. It's not even that he thinks it's impossible for Tom Riddle to cheat death after he has done so seven times. It's everything that comes with that, the deaths, and the smell of Dark magic in the air. It's that Harry can't lose any more people.

"Where's Hermione?" Ron asks.

There's a bang in the distance. Ron and Harry turn, wands pulled out and pointed at the figures running towards them. But just as Harry's getting ready to send a spell, one of the figures runs under a street lamp and Harry recognizes Hermione.

"What happened?" He asks as Ron hugs her.

"Amycus is here," she says. "He looked just like a Muggle. We think it's Polyjuice."

"Yeah," Ron says, motioning to Alecto's stunned body on the ground. "We know. We ran into his sister."

"What did she want?" Hermione asks, looking down at Alecto. "Are they here for Harry?"

Harry shakes his head. "She wanted to give me a message," he says. "That Voldemort's back."

"That's impossible," Hermione says, shaking her head. "We know that's impossible. She was probably just trying to get to you."

Harry nods, but he can feel the way his wand arm won't stop shaking. It's the weather, he repeats in his head. Just the breeze that shakes the yellow leaves on the trees around them. It's just that it's cold and he didn't bring a jacket. But even as he thinks these things, he can hear Dr Griffith's mellow voice telling him that it isn't good to lie to himself.

"It worked," Harry says, finally.

There is some liberty in admitting it, into letting the night and the wind take his confession. He knows Ron and Hermione hear him, knows that he can expect them to stay with him tonight. And suddenly, he finds that he doesn't want that. He wants just a moment where someone doesn't have their life put together, where there is no perfect understanding, just a mutual disregard for healthy coping mechanisms.

He wants to see Draco.

"I have to go," Harry says.

He can see Hermione beginning to argue, can see Ron stepping forward. But Harry shakes his head, turns on the spot, and is gone.

*

Draco doesn't expect the summons so late at night. But he can hear the desperation in Potter's voice, as he calls from Draco's fireplace. Draco supposes he can understand the unravelling of one's world enough to have sympathy for it. So he puts on his clothes and steps through the fireplace into Grimmauld Place.

He's in Potter's bedroom, the red and gold Gryffindor banners decorating the wall across from the bed. Muggle posters of women and motorcycles take up the rest of the space and Draco knows those belong to Sirius Black. He's been here enough to know that Potter can't change the decoration and wouldn't, even if he could. The rest of the walls are a handsome dark red that seem to absorb the light from the fire. The same ugly white rug takes up most of the floor in front of the bed but Draco's glad to see that Potter has changed his furniture. There's a dark wood dresser, and a bedside table in the same shade.

It's starting to look like a bedroom and not a shrine to a dead godfather.

"Thank you for coming," Potter says, coming into the room.

Draco turns and seeing Potter standing in front of him makes him realise that he may have a problem. He intends to leave England soon and as he looks at Potter standing barefoot at the entrance to his bedroom, it occurs to Draco that he will owe an explanation. That despite his best efforts, he has come to place some importance in Harry Potter's feelings. He supposes it's only to be expected. They spend time together. It's only natural.

Potter steps into the room, a determined look in his eyes as he watches Draco's face. He looks tired, the bags under his eyes more pronounced than usual. There's something about the way he holds himself that makes Draco take pause. It's the intensity with which he's moving, the carefully controlled movements, the deliberate breaths.

"Are you all right?" Draco asks.

He sees Potter pause.

"We ran into the Carrows," he says.

"Ah," Draco says, understanding the shaking of Harry Potter's hands. "Is someone trying to kill you again?"

Harry shrugs. Each of his breaths seems to last about the same time and Draco recognizes a coping mechanism when he sees one. He doesn't yet know what Harry needs, but he knows he'll come to know that in due time.

"You really do know how to attract trouble," Draco says in the meantime.

It's the right thing to say because Potter smiles.

"Is that what this is?" Harry says, motioning between them. "Trouble?"

Draco grins, easy and charming. "Oh," he says. "You have no idea."

*

What Harry wants more than anything is for Draco to hold him down while he takes him apart. It circles through his mind as he watches Draco's smile, the flirtatious tilt to his head. He wants to forget what this night is for a moment, what Alecto had said, what will wait for him in the morning when the news gets out.

"Today's the anniversary of my parents' deaths," he says and knows this is the wrong way to start.

Draco moves forward slowly and reaches out between them. His hand is cold when he takes Harry's but the offered squeeze is a comfort. Harry steps forward, watches the way Draco's inhaled breath goes shaky.

This is better, Harry thinks, much better than letting himself get tangled in ifs and maybes and death counts.

"I'm glad you came," Harry says.

He takes a step closer until his chest is touching Draco's until he can press the side of his face into Draco's, hear Draco's exhale against his ear. He likes how Draco smells, something like faded detergent and cologne. He likes that Draco's fingers are tracing patterns up Harry's back, likes how they feel in his hair, the way Draco tugs Harry's head back. How the air feels thicker going down Harry's lungs when Draco pulls harder and gets his mouth on Harry's neck. A slow slide of lips against Harry's throat, Draco's teeth bared against his pulse point.

"Sit down," Draco whispers.

He pulls back and Harry lets himself be pushed onto his bed. He watches Draco undo the buttons on his wrists, watches Draco roll his sleeves up and out of the way. Watches Draco watching him, the way he's almost vibrating in his skin, how he looks up deliberately as he kneels at Harry's feet.

"Lean back," Draco says, one hand firm against Harry's stomach.

Draco pushes and Harry goes back on his hands, watches the top of Draco's head as Draco works Harry's belt open. He can feel the way Draco's hands shake, the barely held back desire. Harry closes his eyes. He lets himself feel the smooth glide of Draco's hands along his thighs as Draco pushes Harry's jeans and underwear down and out of the way. Harry exhales against the scrape of Draco's fingernails on his hips, the deliberate way Draco pushes Harry's legs apart so that he can fit between them.

Harry waits and waits, and the first touch of Draco's lips against the inside of his thigh is like a rippling of sensation along Harry's scalp. He opens his eyes, his breath coming out rough as Draco noses up Harry's hipbone, Harry's cock against the side of his cheek. Draco looks up then, his grey eyes hard as his hands dig into Harry's hips, holding him still.

"Okay?" Draco asks.

"Yeah," Harry breathes. "I'm good. Feels good."

Draco hums, his hand coming up to stroke Harry once, up and down. Harry bites his lip and watches, his whole body tensed as he waits. Draco looks up at him almost lazily, their eyes locked together as Draco brings his mouth slowly to the tip of Harry's cock. He licks up the underside and Harry groans as Draco finally opens his mouth and takes Harry in.

Draco goes slowly and Harry breathes through it, his eyes closed against the warm slide of Draco's mouth, the hard press of finger's on Harry's hip. Draco's mouth slides lower and Harry's body bows forward, his hands digging into the edge of the mattress. He hears himself groan as Draco's mouth slips down and Harry brings his shaking hands to Draco's hair.

He hears Draco's low hum of approval as Harry digs his fingers into Draco's head. Then, Draco drops his hands from Harry's hip and goes still. Harry looks down, sees Draco watching him with his mouth full of Harry's cock, his eyes half-closed.

"Fuck," Harry says, as he realises what Draco wants.

Carefully, Harry pulls Draco's head back by his hair, feels the slide of warm heat down his cock, feels the vibrations from Draco's mouth. Then, just as slowly, he shifts on the bed and feeds himself back into Draco's mouth. Harry feels his own mouth drop open, can feel the tension along his shoulders, his shaking hands as he continues to guide Draco. His breath picks up and Draco reaches up to push Harry's hands away from his hair.

He pulls off Harry, looks up, says, "Want you to come in my mouth."

Harry nods quickly, his hands reaching out.

Draco shakes his head, waits until Harry presses his hand on the mattress. He leans forward, takes Harry back in his mouth and his hand, and slides back down deep. He changes the angle, looks up, meets Harry's eyes. Harry exhales, his breath coming out in short pants. He can feel the pressure building low in his abdomen. He reaches forward, his fingers finding Draco's shoulders as his head drops forward. He can feel Draco pulling back slightly, his hand coming to move against Harry. It's good. It's so good and Harry closes his eyes helplessly, let's himself go.

He hears Draco moan, feels it around himself, the moment is drawn out just a little longer. Then, Draco leans back, licks his lips, and grins at Harry.

"Good?" He asks.

Harry laughs. "Yeah," he says, reaching forward.

But Draco just pats Harry's knees and stands up. He stretches and Harry leans back on hands, watches Draco lazily. It feels almost like it did with Dean, relaxed and pleasant. Until Draco turns to look at Harry's open door, at Harry, laid out on his bed, his jeans pulled up but unbuttoned.

Draco raises an eyebrow. "You planning to stay like that all night?"

Harry drops his eyes slowly down Draco's body, letting himself linger on Draco's legs, his arms. He looks up into Draco's amused eyes and says, "Well, no, not all night."

Draco rolls his eyes and he's turning towards Harry again, his hands going for his own belt when green flames burst into life in Harry's fireplace.

Draco looks at Harry and they both know that it's too late. Draco can't Disapparate inside Grimmauld Place. He throws a wild look at Harry and the fireplace, the accusation clear, and turns to go. He almost makes it. It helps that the door is open, but Ron is already in the room by the time Draco reaches the threshold.

"Malfoy?" he says. "What are you doing here?"

Draco looks at Harry in his general state of undress. His stare draws Ron's eyes and Harry knows what it looks like. He knows there's no way to mistake what they've been doing.

"Draco," Harry says, getting up. "Wait."

Draco shakes his head, throws one more terrified look Ron's way, and disappears into the dark hallways of Grimmauld Place.


	7. Forward Motion

Harry knows Ron is watching him and he wars with himself for a second, stuck between going after Draco or staying and explaining things to Ron. He knows Ron isn't the problem here. Ron's only here because Harry left without saying where he was going, because Ron cares what happens to Harry. He knows the fight that's coming will be more of that, just Ron trying to process the ways in which Harry functions, the things he does to keep himself focused. Draco isn't the problem either but he's the one that needs Harry's reassurances now.

He turns to Ron, his mind made up.

"You're seeing Draco Malfoy," Ron says.

Harry shakes his head. "No," he says. "It's more casual than that."

"Oh," Ron says, nodding, and it looks like he's doing his best to keep his temper in check. "So he's the one who comes to see you only when it's convenient and then leaves?"

"Ron, that's not what I said," Harry says. "You know it's not like that."

But Ron narrows his eyes as he takes in Harry's general dishevelled state. He very pointedly looks towards the door where Draco disappeared.

"So he's not just fucking you when it's a good time for him and leaving?"

"I called him," Harry says, and the first spark of anger shocks him.

It has been a long time since he lost his temper. He's been better about keeping things in check, about sleeping the required amount of time, and going for his walks in the morning. Even when he misses a few days, he can usually get his temper under control. But there's something about Ron in his bedroom and the look of panic on Malfoy's face, the Carrows, and Harry's general inability to do anything, that has him riled up. The fact that he was so calm just moments before makes things worse. He was coping. He was doing fine.

"I don't really see how any of this is your business, Ron," Harry says. "So unless you have anything else to say, you can go."

Ron gapes. "Okay," he says, furiously. "How about you be less of an idiot and stop running away when former Death Eaters are after you? Hermione and I looked for you everywhere. And then, Kingsley told us someone had used the Floo to get into your bedroom, and we thought you—"

Ron breaks off and looks to the side. "I have to let Hermione know you're okay."

It occurs to Harry that had it been Ron or Hermione in the cemetery, had they run off with no explanation, had he found them with each other while he worried, he would also be angry. As always, it's the thought of them worried, of them wondering whether he's all right, that calms Harry down.

"Ron," Harry says. "I'm fine, really. I know I shouldn't have left. I just needed some time."

"We get that, mate," Ron says. "But you have to let us know."

Harry sighs. "I know," he says and the night feels too long, his skin stretched tight again. "Mind if we hold off on Malfoy for a bit and you tell me what happened with Alecto?"

"Yeah," Ron says, reluctantly. "One second."

He waves his wand and sends off a Patronus. Harry assumes it's for Hermione. He's not surprised when his fireplace burns with green flames a second time and Hermione steps through. She looks Harry over and once she's satisfied he's safe, she glares at him.

"Were you planning on letting anyone know you hadn't been kidnapped?" She asks.

Harry opens his mouth to apologize but Hermione cuts him off.

"It was very irresponsible of you to just wander off when we'd just captured two former Death Eaters," she says. "Ron had to explain to Robards and Kingsley that you hadn't been abducted. Then Kingsley told us someone had used the Floo to get into your bedroom from Malfoy Manor, and—"

She breaks off and Harry winces as he watches her put it together. She looks at Harry, her eyes zeroing in on the side of his neck and his messy hair. He can tell he isn't doing a good job of looking innocent. He turns to Ron, who shrugs at him and mouths, "Sorry, mate."

"Harry," Hermione says carefully. "Is Draco Malfoy who you've been seeing?"

The comfort of being known is something that Harry has never taken for granted, but sometimes, he forgets what it's like. He appreciates the easy way that Hermione and Ron can read him. These days, he never has to worry that they'll take something he says the wrong way, or confuse his meaning when he can't get the right words out. It's a relief to share this with them, now. Even though he knows he needs to speak to Draco, he also knows that Ron and Hermione come first.

"We'll talk about it later," Harry says. "I promise. Tell me what happened with Robards and Kingsley."

Hermione gives him a hard stare but lets it go. "We had to give statements about what happened," she says. "I was in the middle of mine when one of the Aurors protecting Cattermole showed up. Someone tried to attack one of the Cattermole kids. They're thinking it was Fenrir Greyback."

Harry sits down on his bed. "I thought Greyback was in Azkaban."

Ron shakes his head. "They never caught him after Hogwarts. Everyone assumed he went back to the werewolves but no one's seen him since the war."

"So, Greyback is still out there. The Carrows. Who else?"

"The Carrows are in Azkaban," Ron says. "Dawlish and Robards wanted to talk to you but I told Dawlish to sod off until Monday. Robards got told the same thing, but from Kingsley. Voldemort's dead, by the way. Kingsley was there when they burned the body and we know all the Horcruxes are gone. Dawlish thinks the Carrows were just distractions so that Greyback could get to the Cattermole's. Figured most of the Aurors would be with you."

"I told Kingsley that I didn't need so many Aurors," Harry says. "I was fine with just you two."

Hermione shakes her head. "You had the Aurors you needed with you," she says. "Lucky you were with Ron when Alecto showed up."

"She wasn't trying to hurt me," Harry says, remembering Alecto in the graveyard, the way she had lowered her wand before he disarmed her.

"Kingsley reckons someone's just really mad at you," Ron says. "They're trying to get back at you for something, and they figure rounding up leftover Death Eaters, and hitting all the places you've been before is a good way to do it."

"I'm not going into hiding," Harry says, immediately.

"No one is saying you should, mate," Ron says, glancing at Hermione.

"But we think maybe it's a good idea if you come to stay with us for a bit," she says. "Just until some of this blows over."

Harry looks around at his room. He thinks of Ron and Hermione's place, their cosy kitchen and their spare bedroom. It would do him good to get away, to have someone nearby. He thinks of the empty rooms in Grimmauld Place and the dark hallways that stay that way most of the time. He never finds the energy to get up and turn on all the lamps, hasn't felt the need to be anywhere but his room and the kitchen.

"Okay," he says. "But I have to do something first."

Ron frowns. "We're going to talk about it, mate," he says. "We need to discuss your questionable life choices."

"We're going to go, now, Harry," Hermione says. She goes over to Harry and kisses the top of his head. "See you, soon."

"Yeah," Ron says. "See you."

Harry watches them leave his bedroom, hears Ron's furious, "Malfoy, Hermione. Malfoy."

He doesn't hear what Hermione says in response.

*

Draco needs to leave, get as far from Potter's house and his friends as he can. He'd run, if he could, just pack his things and never come back. Fuck off to some other country where no one would know who he was. In someplace where he could fuck whoever he wanted and no one would bat an eye. If he could, he would have done it the moment Harry Potter had tried to kiss him.

But when he gets to the front of Malfoy Manor, he sees the house looming in the distance, the windows sunken in like his father's eyes. The shadows in the gardens his mother has so painstakingly put back together. The hoot of owls in the distance and the puff of peacock feathers that settle like signs of new life. He thinks of his father roaming the Manor hallways, eyes always looking for what's around the corner, flinching away from living. He thinks of his mother, her steely resolve, the way she pulls herself together even when there is nothing to look forward to. She's carried the family much farther than Draco and his father ever have.

Draco will always come back.

He walks into the entrance hall, up the staircases, past the window Potter looked out of. He tries to imagine what Potter had seen, what about the gardens had caught his attention. There is so much empty space in Draco's life, so much that he doesn't know what to do with. He can't imagine that he'll ever find anything that's enough to fill it. No one who will see the jagged edges that exist within him and understand him completely.

He turns away from the window and heads to his room. He can feel the restlessness under his skin, the desire to run, stronger now that he's home. There are so many places that don't belong to him alone anymore, so many things out of his control. He turns, looking for something to throw, when he sees the bag Kingsley asked him to pack, lying next to the fireplace. He thinks of the paperwork he filed that morning with Gringotts, the approval for the job in Albania. There is nothing holding him back, not when Kingsley himself wants this.

He can go.

He can go and come back.

He doesn't let himself think it through too much, just starts throwing his things together, his toothbrush, a comb. He wakes his mother, tells her what's happening, lets her know only what Kingsley has approved. She gets up to help him with some last-minute things, doesn't ask why he's doing this in the middle of the night, why it can't wait until the next morning. Draco doesn't know what he'll tell her if she asks. But his mother helps him without a word, hands him his wand just before he heads down the stairs.

He makes it to the bottom, looks back at her in her dressing gown. She waves at him and the pride in her eyes is evident even from a distance. Draco thinks of the things he has done this night, of Harry Potter and his bright green eyes and the sounds he makes when he comes.

"Goodbye, Mother," he says.

"Goodbye, Draco," she says. "Take care."

He nods. "Give Father my best," he tells her and heads for the door without waiting for her answer.

The night is quiet, that silence that only happens very late at night and early in the morning when everything is asleep. A silence that runs deep into the ground and allows Draco room for his thoughts. He knows he'll be at Gringotts before it opens, but he figures he can always stop at the Leaky Cauldron, spend some hours there before he heads out. He'll catch a Portkey at Gringotts, disappear for two months or so. However long it takes him to finish going through the graves in the Albanian forest.

He hears there are various Dark artefacts left from the days in which the Dark Lord haunted the place. He knows the Goblins at Gringotts think there are treasures buried there, things that they're willing to pay handsomely for. But more than that, this is an opportunity for Draco to go out and try his hand at the spells he's practised. He can get away for a time, be by himself, do what he wants in a place no one has ever heard of him. He thinks he'll go into town when he gets there and figure out what there is to do.

He finds, to his surprise, that he's looking forward to this trip.

He walks down Malfoy Manor's driveway, his bag slung over his shoulder, the lightbulbs above the hedges blinking on as he walks past them. He's three hedges from the front gate when Potter Apparates two metres away. Draco stops, both of them staring at each other through the bars, neither of them moving.

Draco knows he owes an explanation but he finds that he can't look at Potter. Not without seeing Weasley's confusion, the surprise and horror. It's too much, too many people who know, someone else Draco can't hope to control. He's losing grasp of his life, of the carefully orchestrated plans he has laid out for himself. Harry Potter is more trouble than he's worth and Draco owes it to himself to end things now and go on his way. No harm done.

"He won't tell anyone,"Potter says.

Draco looks at Potter standing in the shadows of Malfoy Manor, wearing the same clothes he was wearing when Draco left him.

"I'm leaving," Draco says.

Potter looks at the bag on Draco's shoulder. "When are you coming back?"

When. Not _stop_ or _don't go_. Nothing so mundane as ownership or the expectation of an explanation. It's good that they understand each other.

"I don't know," Draco says. "Two months, at least. I'm hoping to be back by the New Year but it'll depend."

"On what?" Harry asks.

He makes no move to get closer, just watches Draco with his green eyes, that focused stare that Draco can picture so clearly whenever he's alone in his bedroom.

"You should talk to Kingsley," Draco says, finally.

He steps forward, past the enchanted gate, and into the night. Potter turns to him, looks like he wants to say something. He takes a step forward and Draco can feel his whole body tense in anticipation. It's like it knows already what comes next, what awaits at the end of Potter's purposeful stride and intense stare.

Draco takes a step back, lets the distance register. "Goodbye, Potter," he says.

Harry swallows, nods, says, "Goodbye, Draco."

Then, Draco turns on the spot and is gone.

*

"Wake up," Harry hears Ron call through the door. "We're going for a walk."

Harry feels his whole body protest at the sound. He took his pill too late last night after he had come back from Malfoy Manor, and his brain hasn't caught up with the fact that it's morning. Harry pushes himself up and out of bed. He gets ready in a daze, eyes half-closed as he brushes his teeth and finds comfortable running clothes. He knows Ron likes to run in the park in the mornings and he figures he might as well take up a new habit.

They head for the little park across the street from Ron and Hermione's, the morning still dark as they start their walk along the walkway. The morning is cold, Harry's shoes sliding whenever he steps in the little piles of leaves along the way. They've done a lap when Ron finally talks.

"So," he says. "Explain to me how exactly you and Malfoy happened."

Harry shrugs. "Remember when you asked me to go see him about your dad's bike?"

Ron stops walking. "That was over a month ago," he says.

"Yeah," Harry says.

He picks up the pace, breathes in the smell of wet concrete and fallen leaves. It feels like rain and when Harry looks up, he sees the clouds in the distance, the sun beginning to push past the horizon.

"So let me get this straight," Ron says, catching up to Harry. "You left Dean to start something with Malfoy. Then kept it quiet because Malfoy isn't ready to tell anyone yet. And you've managed to keep this relationship a secret for over a month, even though we're over at yours almost every day?"

"Almost," Harry says. "Except there's no relationship."

"Hermione said you'd say that," Ron says. "She told me I'm supposed to ask if you're okay with that."

"Smart girl, Hermione," Harry says.

Ron grins. "Don't think she isn't planning to corner you later," he says. "And don't think I won't tell her everything you're telling me right now."

"I wouldn't expect anything less," Harry says. "Does this mean you're not angry anymore?"

Ron sighs. "I'm not angry. I think you're mad and that you have very questionable taste. And maybe dumping my sister and then Dean did something to you. But I'm not angry."

"He's...it's not...he's different now," Harry says. "We all are."

"Listen, mate," Ron says. "I get it, all right. I was just angry it was Malfoy. You could have had your pick and you went with Malfoy. Malfoy, who couldn't get his shit together enough to do the right thing until after the war. I mean, we went through so much the year after Dumbledore died and we still did the right thing. Well...you know...we tried."

"You did the right thing," Harry assures him. "Nothing you did was the wrong thing."

Ron nods, acknowledging the out. "Thanks," he says. "I figured, we did the right thing, so why couldn't Malfoy? But Hermione reckons anybody raised by Lucius Malfoy is bound to have a harder time about it. And she's right. If I hadn't been raised by Mum and Dad, I'd be a different person. What I'm trying to say is, I get that Malfoy isn't just putting it on. I think he's trying to be a better person. So, yeah, I'm happy that you're happy. But I also know that he's on thin ice. And maybe one day he won't be, but for now, that's how things are. Is that all right?"

Harry nods. "Yeah," he says, grateful. "That's all right."

-

Hermione doesn't get a chance to corner Harry when he and Ron get back from their run. She gets a call about a group of merpeople trying to cross into the Trent River from the North Sea and has to run. Harry and Ron have breakfast and head to the office, Harry to see Dawlish and Ron to find Neville. Harry gives a rundown of what happened to him the night before, fills out the paperwork, asks to see Kingsley, and gets an invite to an early dinner.

He spends the rest of the day helping Neville organize his notes on the Venomous Tentacula seeds. They fill out form after form regarding size, weight, and general bounciness of each seed. Ron, who helped Neville while Harry was with Dawlish, gets away with reviewing forms and signing off on what Harry and Neville finish. Once everything is catalogued and Neville deems his file complete, Harry says his goodbyes and heads out to meet Kingsley.

Dinner turns out to be at Kingsley's house, a small cottage in Devon that he shares with his Muggle partner. Over dinner, Kingsley explains about the Carrows, catches Harry up on what's being done to protect him and those they suspect might be targets.

"I've asked Mr Malfoy to help with the case," Kingsley says over dessert. "Once this case is done, Robards will be taking over as Head Auror and I will be dedicating myself full time to my other duties. I would like it if, at that time, Mr Malfoy becomes a permanent part of the team. He has potential. He's talented at countercurses and potions and his background as a Curse-Breaker will be useful."

"You want Malfoy at the offices?" Harry asks. "Does Malfoy even want to be an Auror?"

"Mr Malfoy is working with the Auror office already, as a consultant. He reports to me directly," Kingsley says. "We are looking to get Mr Malfoy into one of the DLF meetings."

"DLF?"

Kingsley smiles. "It's rather tiring to have to call them the Dark Lord's Faithful."

"And you're sure Malfoy is okay with letting people think he's doing Death Eater things again?"

Kingsley puts down his fork and looks at Harry. "Is there something you know about Draco Malfoy that I should know?"

Harry thinks of Draco standing in front of the Ministry fireplaces, his eyes scanning the room as though afraid of the eyes on him. He thinks of Draco shaking with anger in his room, furious that Harry might think the worst of him. Of Draco taking Harry's hand. Of Draco watching him through the gates of Malfoy Manor.

"I assure you, I wouldn't have sent Malfoy to Albania if he wasn't one hundred percent certain it was what he wanted to do," Kingsley says. "He knows that the Ministry will release a statement once this is over and that no one will protest when I make my recommendation for him to join the Aurors."

"And Malfoy will be safe?"

"As safe as any Auror can be at any given time."

Harry nods. "And what you're asking me is to keep away from it. To let Malfoy get himself in trouble and stay out of it."

"If we want this to work," Kinglsey says. "Now that the Carrows are out of the way, we need to make it seem like Mr Malfoy is distancing himself from the Ministry. That means that the Prophet will start putting out stories about a rift in your friendship."

"We're not really friends," Harry says, knowing that he isn't being completely truthful. "More like acquaintances."

"Still," Kingsley says. "The Prophet ran a piece on your relationship with Mr Malfoy back in September, and we need to make sure that it's the last piece for a while."

"I understand," Harry says.

And that is that.

*

November brings the snowfall early, the temperature dropping to below freezing so that Draco takes to casting warming charms on top of the layers of clothing he wears. He spends most days in the Albanian forests, sleeping in the tent he bought on the day he left England. He hasn't found what he's looking for but the silence of the forests has given him something different.

In between the trees that rise like giants into the cloudy skies above, Draco can feel the beginnings of a painful peace. He watches the rivers freeze over, the thick slab of ice covering the raging currents below. He can imagine that underneath the layer of snow that begins to cover the forest, something lives, waiting to be let out. That underneath everything he is and all the things he has cultivated over the course of his life, something better exists.

Being alone in Albania gives him too much time to think, too much freedom to imagine the way Harry's hands feel in his hair. Time to imagine the kisses Harry could give him, how it would feel to let himself get lost in Harry's mouth. In the darkness of night, Draco can imagine that Harry lies down next to him, whispers in the distance between them.

Here, away from his mother's eyes and his father's ghost, Draco can be someone else.

These thoughts are dangerous things that cut him down to his soul. He starts measuring the possibilities, the ifs, and whens, and maybes. How it might be possible that he enjoys the way Harry Potter sounds when he's coming. That he might enjoy the way a cock feels in his mouth, the hard planes of another man, rough hands on his hips, a mouth on his neck.

There is too much time in Albania, and still, as the nights grow longer and the days turn to December, Draco finds that there is no time at all.

*

Christmas with the Weasleys is home in a way that nothing else will ever be to Harry. He sits by the fire, listening as Mrs Weasley sings along to Celestina Warbeck, a whiskey in his hand and Ginny's feet on his lap. He closes his eyes and lets the sounds of their laughter wash over him. Harry doesn't know how he'll ever be able to tell them what this means to him, to have them whole and safe, to belong in a way he has never felt anywhere before.

He loves them.

In the end, it's as simple as that.

*

Draco spends Christmas alone but for the clearing at the centre of the valley, deep in the mountains of Albania. He has been working on getting through the last of the spells that protect the cave at the foot of the river. He has managed two of the four protective layers, the stench of Dark magic stronger the more Draco chips away at the protections.

He enjoys the work, the logic of it all, how he must cast his countercurses precisely, in a specific order. The solving of a difficult puzzle has always brought Draco joy. So he spends his Christmas morning casting spells and getting lost in the work that he has to do. Never straying too long to thoughts of his home, of whether his mother misses him, even though she has not written to him since he left.

He's not a boy anymore and so, he must make do with the things he has.

-

On New Year's Day, Draco manages to undo the last of the spells on the cave. He goes in in the morning and comes back out when the sun has set. The light snowfall has become a blizzard that feels like it cuts wherever the falling drops touch Draco's face. He now holds a necklace wrapped in a cloth soaked in chamomile, mugwort, and sage for purification.

He can go home now.

Draco hesitates at the entrance to his tent, the silver lost to the falling snow, but the green visible in the absence of anything living in the forest. He doesn't know if he wants to go home.

*

A week past the New Year, Harry gives up trying to shake off Ron and Hermione as he goes on his morning runs. Though there have been no more attacks, Robards and Kingsley insist that Harry shouldn't be alone. As a compromise, Harry now lives in a flat two streets away from Ron and Hermione's.

It's small, a little kitchen that connects to his sitting room, and one bedroom. But it's his, more than Grimmauld Place has ever been his. He buys new furniture and paints his bedroom walls a silvery blue that Luna helps him pick out. Harry knows it doesn't have to stay that way and there is something liberating in knowing he can change things when he wants, that what he hangs on his walls doesn't have to stay there. He paints his sitting room a deep emerald green, buys a dark red rug and black couches. His kitchen he leaves the light cream that it was before he moved in and even that feels like a good decision.

He has his own place and that is something he never thought he would be able to have.

So what if some days he finds it harder to get up in the mornings, or that there are nights where he can't sleep? So what if Hermione has had to wake him on days he sleeps through two alarms? So what if some days, just having his space outside of Grimmauld Place feels like a betrayal?

*

The thing is, Harry sends Draco a Christmas card. Draco doesn't get it until the week after the New Year, but there it is, along with a gift basket from Blaise, leather gloves from Pansy, and a handsome fur cloak from his parents. The thing is, Draco had started thinking that, perhaps, there might have been no reason for going back. The thing is, Draco has missed the way Harry comes undone in his hands.

*

Harry hears it from Ron, who hears it from Robards, who hears it from Kingsley.

"Malfoy's back," Ron says. "Now that Malfoy's supposed to be a Ministry hater, we're supposed to keep his visits quiet, but you know Robards, the man can't keep his mouth shut even if he spelt it shut. Don't tell him I said that though. I like my office."

"So," Harry says casually. "Malfoy's back."

Ron rolls his eyes. "Yes, Malfoy's back," he says. "If you go now, you might be able to catch him before he leaves. He's only allowed to use the fireplace in the meeting room in the back. The one no one wants to use because it's haunted."

The thing is, Harry finds that even though he hasn't been thinking about Draco, now that he knows he's back, all Harry wants to do is see him.

He stands.

"I'll...just," Harry starts.

"Seriously, mate," Ron says, shaking his head sadly. "We have really got to do something about your taste in partners."

"Yeah, sure," Harry says, as he steps out of their office.

He heads straight for the meeting room in the back, away from the roomful of witches and wizards at their cubicles. The room is dark and mostly empty when Harry gets there, except for the stack of chairs in the corner opposite the fireplace. The room has only one window and as Harry waves his wand, the shades slide closed.

He pockets his wand, looks around the room for something to distract himself with. He sees a stack of playing cards on top of the chairs and makes his way over. He's separating the third deck from the pile when the door opens.

Even before he turns, he knows it's Draco. It's a prickling of awareness as though Harry's being watched. He turns, and standing before him, with his hair longer than Harry has ever seen it, is Draco Malfoy. He looks different, as though he has had more than a few good nights of sleep. Something in the set of his shoulders is easy and welcoming.

He sees Harry, raises an eyebrow, and says, "Well, hello there, Potter."


	8. Rita Skeeter and All Other Sorts of Problems

They have to stop meeting like this, in darkened rooms, where Draco's thoughts are free to roam wild. He has summoned Harry again, unruly hair and big green eyes, dressed like a Muggle but with a wizard's presence. Albania is still so recent that Draco doesn't say no when Harry moves across the room in three easy strides, face alive with that unrelenting focus. He doesn't protest when Harry grabs his face and presses his mouth to Draco's.

At that moment, when Draco closes his eyes and Harry's hand moves to Draco's hair, they could be anyone. And this is what sparks terror in Draco's gut, that in between the slow glide of lips and the hard press of mouths, Draco will lose himself. That he'll let himself forget everything but the heat between them until there remains nothing of who Draco was before Harry Potter kissed him.

He pulls away, sees Harry sway forward, his hands hard on Draco's neck.

"Let go," Draco says.

Harry drops his hands, brow furrowed in confusion. "What's wrong?" He asks.

Just like that, Albania is nothing but a dream, a kaleidoscope of memories that belong to some other person. Vague forgotten things that have no bearing with who Draco is now.

"I don't want that," Draco says into the silence.

It's too close to things Draco has been keeping a secret for so long. To have Harry Potter kiss him, to enjoy the feel of Harry's mouth on his because it means something solid and true makes Draco's blood run cold. He can feel his hands shaking and he knows Harry must feel them too. They're still so close, hands on each other, noses bumping. Draco just needs to lean forward and the idea that he could pretend it was an accident, just a casualty of rearranged limbs, terrifies him. He doesn't know how to navigate this intimacy, the promise of other things to come from Harry's kisses. Draco gets ready to flee, to run like is his nature. But Harry moves back, puts distance between them, and the cold air of the room separates them further.

"Okay," Harry says. "Okay. Sorry. How was Albania?"

"I don't want to talk about Albania," Draco says, because this, too, is true.

His hands shake with the desire to touch Harry, to feel his warmth and the hard plane of muscles. Every part of Draco aches with his effort to keep himself in check, to not give away more than is safe. Suddenly, Draco finds that he's tired, deep in his bones, of trying to keep things in line. He's exhausted from travelling, from wanting and not getting. He looks at Potter's green eyes, his reddened mouth, the way Harry's stance is a welcome sign. Draco's not made to resist what he wants. He'll never be strong enough for that.

Draco steps forward until he's touching Harry again until he can press his face against the side of Harry's face. He lets his hands slide down Harry's back and into his back pockets. This is familiar, welcomed even.

"Let's get out of here," Draco whispers.

He can feel Harry's shaky inhale against the side of his neck, the first brush of lips.

"Come back to mine," Harry says.

Draco nods, letting his hands slip under Harry's shirt, underneath the waistband of Harry's jeans. Harry pulls away and Draco's confused for a moment. He can feel the familiar buzz underneath his skin, a prickling of heat that starts at his lower back and moves upwards. It has been so long since he has had his hands on Harry Potter.

"Can you leave?" Draco asks.

Harry waves his wand over the fireplace instead of answering. He grabs a handful of Floo powder, tosses it in, and with his eyes on Draco, he says, "Harry Potter's flat."

Draco follows and when he steps out of the fireplace, the first thing he sees is a beautiful emerald green room. The dark red rug fits nicely with the decor, but that's all Draco bothers to notice. Instead, he turns into Harry and pushes him back onto the couch.

That too is welcomed and accepted in its familiarity. Draco has missed the way Harry focuses on a task, how his hands know what they're doing even as he kisses down Draco's neck. Draco wants this, the frantic removal of clothing and the whispered curses when their skin touches. Draco can feel all of Harry down the length of his body. He knows they can't stay on the couch but he also knows that moving isn't an option. So they make do, as they always must.

Draco remembers that he likes it like this, when Harry uses his whole body to push Draco down into the cushions, when he's just a little rough in his preparation. Draco likes how it feels to have Harry's hands on his hips as he slides his cock into Draco, slowly, always so slow.

The rest of it too is wanted, the noises Harry makes by Draco's ear, the way his fingers push down on Draco's head, how it feels to be so full. To be wanted by someone until they can't contain themselves, until it's just heavy groans and Harry's teeth on the back of Draco's neck.

"I missed you," Harry whispers into Draco's back.

So Draco reaches a hand back, grabs a fistful of Harry's hair and pushes his mouth back onto Draco's skin. Anywhere to muffle the confessions, to erase the things that happen between them. Everything gone, except for the way they sound when they come.

*

Draco Malfoy is back.

This is a problem.

"I have to tell Kingsley," Harry says to Draco.

They're in Harry's bedroom, the blinds pulled closed against the setting sun. Harry knows Ron won't come over. This time, there's nothing to interrupt the moment except Harry's ability to overstep invisible boundaries. He knows better than to remind Draco that the things they do can't remain secret. That despite a person's best intentions, the truth will out.

"Kingsley knows," Draco says.

"Oh," Harry says.

He can see the cracks in the ceiling over his bed, the bumps and raises of caulk where the landlord tried to patch the holes in the ceiling. Harry searches for any sense that it troubles him that Kingsley knows what he and Draco are doing. But he finds that on further inspection, the largest part of himself knows that Draco's talking about something else. He thinks back to the conversation he had with Kingsley over dinner after Draco left and it makes sense.

"You told Kingsley we're friends," Harry says.

The disappointment is unexpected.

"It was the only way to explain why we sometimes leave together," Draco says. "I thought it only fair to let him know after he asked me to help him with your case."

Harry nods, his eyes firmly on his ceiling. He has never noticed the way the blue in his bedroom brightens the place even against the closed blinds. It feels like warmth, a greyish-blue that reminds Harry of a cloudy sky at daybreak. He makes a mental note to thank Luna for her help in choosing the colour.

He concentrates on that, on the ceiling and the paint, and ignores the way the bed dips as Draco gets up. Harry hears him pulling on clothes, the unmistakable sound of a belt buckle being done up. He stands when he feels he has given Draco enough time to pull himself together. Harry sighs as he picks up his clothes, puts on everything he took off, and ignores the way he can still feel the echoes of Draco's hands in his hair.

"I really did miss you," Harry says.

He watches Draco pause on his way to tying his shoes. When he turns to Harry, his eyes are soft for a moment and Harry almost convinces himself that Draco will say the same things back. But Draco just smiles and shakes his head as he picks up his wand. He looks around Harry's bedroom, his eyes lingering on the bedside tables, the light cream dresser, and the photographs along Harry's walls.

"Nice place you have here, Potter," Draco says.

"Yeah," Harry says. "I moved."

Draco nods, runs his hands along the sheets on Harry's bed. He comes to stand at the foot of the bed, two strides away from Harry. They look at each other and Harry doesn't know what he's meant to say here, whether he's allowed to miss Draco Malfoy and whether it would matter to Draco that he did. Whether it matters to Harry that it might mean nothing at all.

Harry promised he would only do things like this while they were fun, while they didn't hurt. He promised Dr Griffith that he would do things that made him happy in his personal life. He might not be able to change the things that were required at work, but he can change the things that don't work with Draco. This aspect of his life is his, and his alone, and Harry promised that he wouldn't let anyone make him feel as though he might have regrets.

He looks at Draco and thinks about how they never said they wouldn't see other people while Draco was away. He thinks about how it never occurred to him to find someone else. That sending the Christmas card had seemed so natural, no second thoughts, no hesitations. Harry looks at Draco and knows they're having two different conversations. But then Draco smiles and his eyes go soft as he looks at Harry.

"Happy Christmas," Draco says.

He moves in quickly, presses a kiss to Harry's cheek, and he's moved back before Harry can even register what happened.

"See you around, Potter," Draco says, and in a flourish of robes and cloak, he's gone.

*

Things haven't changed, even a week after Albania. Draco spoke to Kingsley, who told him that ever since the Carrows showed up in Godric's Hollow, there have been no new leads. Draco's still the best hope they have. So Draco is to take more jobs from Gringotts and the Prophet is to run a story about how Draco Malfoy and the Ministry have parted ways.

And though Draco knows that this is what must be done, he finds that it bothers him to think that people will again have their suspicions of the Malfoys confirmed. His mother doesn't deserve any more than she's already endured, and his father, well, Draco doesn't believe in kicking anyone when they're down.

It sits wrong with him, seeing his name in the papers, even though he knows it's for something that matters. He understands that the headlines calling him a traitor and speculating that he's a defector to the Dark side are over-exaggerated. But they're also confirmations of nightmares Draco has had, of all the things he fears will haunt him forever. The Prophet paints him as the Draco he was before the war, and though Draco knows this is not who he is anymore, it still stings.

He knows he should talk to someone.

"Get a support system," Kingsley had told him. "You'll need it."

With this in mind, Draco leaves Potter's new flat, the intimacy of his bedroom and the grey sheets that are almost a perfect match for Draco's eyes. Draco doesn't get caught up in the small gestures that will go nowhere. It's better that things are easy between them, that Harry means no more than anyone else Draco has ever fucked. It's inevitable that they will have to end things. If Kingsley really offers Draco a job, Draco will take it, and it would be unprofessional to continue what he and Harry have.

And still, some days, Draco can convince himself that it doesn't have to be that way. That it's safer that it's Potter, that having this secret contained is best. So long as Potter wants to continue what he and Draco have, it need not be an issue. Draco can go ahead with his life, can finally agree to visit the Greengrasses with his father, and still have Harry's hands on him. Maybe it's possible to have everything Draco has ever wanted and still make his parents proud.

He pulls his cloak tighter around himself as he heads out into the London streets, the cobblestones slippery with fallen snow. He's going to the Leaky Cauldron to meet with Pansy and Blaise. A support system, even if it might not be the one Kingsley wants for Draco. Especially because it might not be the one Kingsley wants, because Draco's tired of living like nothing and no one changes.

He makes it to Charing Cross Road, turns down the street and slips inside, away from the chill. There's a little bell above the door that rings as the door closes behind him. The Leaky Cauldron is full of buzzing conversation that lulls when people notice who has walked in. It's only a moment and the buzz of conversation picks up almost at once. It's comforting to know that Draco has almost become as insignificant as the next wizard. He knows it will not last so he makes sure to enjoy the moment.

At the front of the room by the bar, Hannah Abbott polishes a goblet. She nods when she sees Draco and points to a table to the far right of the room, next to the stairs. Draco nods his thanks and heads down to where he can just make out Pansy and Blaise.

They look well, both of them carrying themselves with the air of people who have had nothing more strenuous to do than wander the countryside at their leisure. Draco knows Pansy is working for the Prophet trying to establish herself as a journalist. She's in charge of writing the Witch Weekly columns, though Draco knows better than to think she'll stay there for long. He wouldn't be surprised to see her running the Prophet in a few years. Blaise, for his part, has taken a year off to wander the country and decide what he'll do with his life.

Pansy and Blaise sit on opposite sides of the table and when Draco gets there, he can't help his answering smile in the face of Blaise's welcoming one. There is Draco's proof in the form of Blaise Zabini's beautiful, brown eyes and smooth, unblemished skin. Draco doesn't always understand his feelings for what he and Potter are doing, but as he takes in Blaise's relaxed slouch, Draco's not surprised to recognize the low hum of attraction. There is relief in the confirmation that he can feel attraction for Blaise and it means nothing. That he can feel the same attraction for Potter and so it must also mean nothing.

"Hello," Draco says, sitting next to Pansy and across from Blaise.

"Hello, darling," Pansy says, leaning over and kissing Draco's cheek.

Blaise leans forward, his chin in his hand. He looks Draco over carefully, one long, slow look that Draco answers. That is further proof. That Draco can do this and like it means that he's still in the realm of safety where Potter is concerned. Because, though he may not understand all there is to understand about what he feels, Draco knows that the danger only comes when he starts choosing Potter over others.

"Draco," Blaise says. "Long time."

Pansy coughs delicately. "When you two are quite done eye-fucking," she says.

Just like that, the warmth from before is gone. Draco throws a quick look at the people closest to them, but everyone is busy with their food and their own conversations. He glances at Blaise who smiles almost sadly and leans back in his chair.

"Don't worry about me," Blaise says. "I'm boring and committed now."

Pansy raises an eyebrow. "Committed to what?" She asks. "Last I heard, you had dumped McLaggen for the third time because his robes didn't complement yours at Astoria's birthday party."

"I didn't mean McLaggen," Blaise says. "Can you imagine? I only meant that Mother's last husband owned a chain of stores and Mother insisted I help her manage them."

"You're going to manage stores?" Draco asks, raising an eyebrow.

"Well," Pansy says, giving Blaise a critical once over. "He has always looked the part."

"And Merlin knows I'm not going into anything as gauche as Ministry work," Blaise says. "Or writing for the Prophet. How does it feel to sell your soul to the devil, Pansy?"

Pansy lifts her cup and over a dainty sip, she gives Blaise the finger. "Not all of us have model mothers who hand us full control of internationally known clothing stores," she says.

"International?" Draco asks.

He leans back in his chair as Blaise explains the business. Draco watches Pansy and Blaise, the easy way they talk to each and include him in their conversation. He finds that he has missed them, that despite his best attempts, he still wants their company. That in their presence, it doesn't feel as big or as daunting to talk about sleeping with other men. In this group, there is no judgement and that in itself is more than Draco has had for a long time.

"So," Pansy says when Blaise is done telling them about the last time McLaggen blew him at a party. "Who have you been doing since we last saw you?"

Draco glances around the Leaky Cauldron. It has emptied since he last paid attention. He can see Hannah cleaning tables and carrying dishes back to the bar.

"Since when does Hannah Abbott work here?" he asks, instead of answering.

Pansy and Blaise exchange looks and Draco does his best to pretend he hasn't noticed.

"I sense a conversation," Blaise says.

"Quite," Pansy says. "Let's say lunch this Saturday. At Draco's?"

"No," Draco says. "Not Saturday."

Blaise and Pansy exchange another look. Draco does his best not to smile.

"Say Sunday, at the cafe where Florean's used to be," Draco says.

"Okay," Blaise says. "It's a date."

*

Harry doesn't know he's been circling around to this conversation until after dinner with Ron and Hermione. He's in their living room, lying on their leather couch and watching their fan turning slowly above his head. It's almost February and all Harry can think about is how Fred and George have moved their love potions to their front windows at their store. He can almost taste the perfume coated letters and the boxes upon boxes of chocolates he's probably going to receive.

"How do you know when you're in love with someone?" Harry asks.

He hears a clattering of plates from the kitchen and Ron's colourful curses. Harry watches the ceiling fan, the consistent rotation of its blades, the soft "whump" it makes as it turns. He knows when Hermione and Ron are back in the room because he hears Ron's soft hiss of pain.

"All right, Hermione," Ron says.

Harry waits, counts the ceiling fan rotations. He's on fifty when Ron's face peeks at him from over the couch.

"Hey," Ron says. "Hermione says I have to ask, even though I really don't want to. Mate, I can't say how much I don't want to be asking you this question, but Hermione has her ways of getting me to do things and—"

"I'm not in love with Draco," Harry says, taking pity on Ron.

He hears Ron's massive sigh of relief and Harry smiles despite himself.

"Ron," Hermione says, sounding aghast.

"Oh, yeah, no, I mean, if you did...that is to say, if Malfoy should be so lucky—"

"What Ron means," Hermione says as she sits down on the couch by Harry's feet, "Is that we support your decisions. And if you were in love with Malfoy, we would support you because we are always going to be on your side."

Harry sits up and Ron slides onto the couch, his side against Harry's back. "Yeah, mate," Ron says. "I'm not going to pretend like there aren't a million other blokes more worth your time. But if you pick Malfoy, I'm not going to spend the rest of my life hating him. Maybe just eighty percent of it," he adds as an afterthought.

Harry says nothing.

After a moment, Hermione shifts on the couch, chewing on her lip in concentration. "Harry," she says. "What brought this on?"

Harry looks at her, at the mass of curls on her head, and the worried expression. She's always worried and it doesn't seem fair to Harry. The war's over, but here they are, the three of them huddled together while Hermione works out a way to solve all their problems.

"Hey," Harry says. "You know it's not just Ron and I that would be lost without you, right?"

He can tell Hermione isn't expecting it from the shock on her face. She looks from Harry to Ron and back to Harry, and it's with a pang of guilt that Harry sees that Hermione's eyes are full of tears. Ron moves before Harry has a chance to. He wraps his arms around Hermione and pulls her into a hug.

"Hey," Ron says, gently. "What's this?"

Hermione takes the tissue Ron offers her and dabs at her eyes. "It's nothing," she says, shaking her head. "Just me being silly."

"It's not nothing," Harry says.

"It's work and just...everything," she says. "I feel like I'm not doing enough. Like I could be doing more. Like maybe I'm not good enough and I know that's not true. Ron, I know. But it's sometimes just nice to hear it."

"I tell you all the time," Ron says.

Hermione smiles and as Harry watches them, he thinks he understands how much they're doing for him. He has never seen them lost in their own world since the Battle of Hogwarts. Whenever the three of them are together, they go out of their way to make sure that Harry's included. He understands then what a burden it can be to be his friend. But he also knows that he would trust no one else but them with this. That with them, it doesn't feel like he's a cross they have to carry.

"Thank you," he says.

Ron frowns at him, but Harry knows he understands.

"Don't think this means we've forgotten about what you said earlier," Ron says. "I'm going to put the kettle on and then you're going to answer Hermione's question and maybe, if we're lucky, I'll have passed out before we get to the really gory stuff."

Harry leans back against the couch armrest, counts the ceiling tiles, and waits for Ron to come back with tea.

*

#### BREAKUP AT THE MINISTRY

##### 

February Edition

_Sources inside the Ministry can confirm that Curse-Breaker Draco Malfoy has called it quits. Whether this means that Mr Malfoy—a recent graduate from Hogwarts—decided to leave or was fired remains to be seen. However, sources inside the Ministry say that they saw this coming from a mile away. "A man like Malfoy wasn't meant to work at the Ministry," a source who wishes to remain anonymous told Prophet reporters. "I heard his family still sympathizes with You-Know-Who. The Ministry doesn't want someone like that on their payroll." But past events might suggest that Mr Malfoy, whose father is known Death Eater Lucius Malfoy, might be just the kind of person the Ministry is looking for. In fact, past Ministry hires have included, among others…(cont'd on A4)._

#### TIME-TURNERS IN TURKEY

##### 

March Edition

_Sources in Gringotts, the English National Bank, have informed us that they have what they suspect is a Time-Turner from current expeditions to Turkey. This news comes at a time of stricter regulations regarding ownership of unregistered Time-Turners, and the Ministry's stance that all Time-Turners in their possession have since been lost or broken. Whether the news of an acquired Time-Turner is true remains to be seen. Curse-Breaker Draco Malfoy, who led the expedition to Turkey has been unavailable for questions…(cont'd on B4)._

#### TROUBLE IN PARADISE

##### 

April Edition

_Harry Potter, England's Most Eligible Bachelor, two years running, was spotted dining alone at the Leaky Cauldron. Mr Potter, whose Auror training ends in July of this year, has been linked to Ministry Employee Dean Thomas and future Holyhead Harpie All-Star Ginevra Weasley. However, it seems as though Harry Potter's popularity may finally be waning. Last night, Harry Potter was seen at the Leaky Cauldron waiting for someone who never showed. "Real sad," a Leaky Cauldron employee told reporters. "He kind of sat there for an hour looking at his watch and then left." Though we're saddened to hear that Mr Potter's date last night was a failure, it might not be the end for England's Chosen One. "Yeah, I knew Harry at school," a former Housemate told reporters. "He was always real popular. Good looking bloke. Might of had a go at him myself if I had known what he was into." This reporter is sure that Harry Potter's love life is just beginning to flourish, though future partners may recall Mr Potter's troubled past…(cont'd B2)._

#### CURSE OF THE FIRSTBORN

##### May Edition

_New regulations at Gringotts might make it harder for those of pureblood families to access their gold. The recent policy states that any person in possession of a key to a Gringotts vault that belonged to a pureblood relation, who had ties with any former Death Eater, must also be able to provide proof of relation to another relative of said family. For example, when Curse-Breaker and Star Gringotts Employee Draco Malfoy attempted to remove gold from Bellatrix Lestrange's vault this past week, he was told that despite the will that left him Mrs Lestrange's considerable fortune, he was expected to provide proof of relation to another of Mrs Lestrange's relations. Though Mrs Lestrange had two siblings, one of whom is Mr Malfoy's mother, for those children with Death Eater parents who had no other siblings, it is proving difficult to access what many are saying is theirs by right…(cont'd A1)._

*

Through the last few months, in between trips for Gringotts and meetings with Kingsley, there has been little progress towards tracking down anyone related to the DLF. Even after what Draco thought was a pointless risk and Potter started wandering the London streets alone in hopes of drawing anyone out, they have had no success. It's as though whatever was left of the DLF has gone into hiding. Even with the new regulations put out by the Ministry targeting the children of former Death Eaters, there has been no whisper of anything else related to the DLF. If it weren't for the odd Muggle or two that had gone missing over the last four months, Draco would think the case was over.

As it stands, given that he's to be recommended for a position as an Auror in the coming weeks, Draco has been told that he's to continue working on the case.

"Slow and steady, as the Muggles say," Robards had told Draco, with a nasty smile.

Slow and steady it would be. Draco has no delusions that he'll be allowed anywhere near the bigger cases, especially since he'll be an Auror-in-training. He'll have to make do with mostly cold cases and unsolved disappearances. Things could be worse, Draco knows. Especially because, snide comments aside, Robards has just signed off on Draco continuing his work with Gringotts and working on the cold cases no one in the Auror offices wants. How long Draco will stay with Gringotts was not discussed. But Draco figures he has a respectable job and the Prophet hints aren't enough to damage whatever reputation he has already managed to scrape together after the war. That has to be enough for now.

Draco drops the latest Prophet on the kitchen table and turns to go, intending to head out for his last meeting with Kingsley. He knows he has to speak to his mother and father about his new position, impress upon them the necessity for their patience. But it's also early in the morning and Draco's meant to see Potter after his meeting with Kingsley. The days are starting to get longer as summer approaches and Draco doesn't think it wise to ruin a good day with an unpleasant conversation.

At the entrance hall, Draco makes the mistake of looking into the sitting room. Lucius is standing by the fireplace with his back to Draco. He looks off into the distant forest outside of the sitting room window, his knuckles white where they grip the mantle. There's a set to his shoulders that hasn't been there since before the war, a sort of controlled anger, like a snake about to strike.

Draco steps into the room and clears his throat.

"I take it you saw the Prophet," Lucius says.

Even his voice sounds different and when Lucius turns, there's real anger on his face. He raises an eyebrow and Draco recognizes the arrogant tilt to his head.

"I know you said you know what you are doing," Lucius says. "But are you quite sure?"

Draco nods.

Lucius raises an eyebrow and looks at Draco. From this distance, Draco feels as though he's much shorter than his father, even though he knows this hasn't been true since Draco turned eighteen. The distance between them is significant, even the way his father stands, the pristine robes. All an act that Draco has memorized well but hasn't seen in a very long time. This is Lucius Malfoy at his peak, arrogant and demanding.

"You tried to get into Bellatrix's vault," Lucius says, slowly. "You purposefully attempted to extract gold from a vault you knew you would be targeted for. And you are sure you know what you are doing?"

"Yes, Father," Draco says and he doesn't know if what he feels is anger or relief.

They have lived in silence for years. When Draco needed his father the most, he was just gone. It might have been better if Lucius had gone to Azkaban, if Draco himself had gone. Any physical distance would have been better than the way they have been living since the Battle of Hogwarts. But Draco knows these are things he can't say. His mother and father never promised him that they would always be there for him. They promised him education and money, a good wife and a good family. They're not a family of empty promises, so Draco knows that he has no right to make demands past what they have granted him.

"You're coming with me to meet Daphne Greengrass," Lucius says. "I have allowed you to put this off for long enough. You may do as you want with your job and the Minister, but you will have to do as you are told in this."

Draco's surprised by the feeling of relief that washes over him. It takes a moment to place it and understand it. It's relief at a decision taken away from him, at his father taking the reins again. Relief that perhaps the future of his family doesn't only rest on him, that he will not be the sole person responsible should what he's doing fail.

"I'm only nineteen," Draco says. "Surely marriage can wait just a bit longer."

Lucius looks at Draco and the anger is still there, the same determination.

"You will be twenty in a week's time," Lucius says. "It's time you started thinking about your future. I understand that you are working for something better and so I must trust that you will always keep the family's best interests at heart."

Draco nods and as he's turning to leave, he hears his father call out to him.

"Draco," Lucius Malfoy says. "Do understand that our views of what benefits this family must never misalign."

Draco could be eleven again, the morning before he took the Hogwarts Express, sitting in this same room, his father by the fireplace. Lucius then had looked at Draco with the same stern expression, had used the same words almost word for word. And just like he had that day, Draco feels his world realign itself, the final pieces of who he is settling into place.

He is a Malfoy and Malfoys do not cry, they survive.

"Yes, Father," Draco Malfoy says.

-

Draco's official introduction to Auror training happens in one of the rooms in the Leaky Cauldron, two days before his birthday. It would be amusing that he was called to a clandestine meeting in the middle of London for nothing more exciting than a job contract. But Robards comes with Kingsley and Draco can tell Robards doesn't like him. They set up a new schedule for meetings, Kingsley shakes Draco's hands, and the whole thing takes less than ten minutes.

He meets with Pansy and Blaise after and allows their chatter about plans for Draco's birthday party that weekend to wash over him. He offers his criticism of their decoration choices where it's expected and for the first time in a long while, he feels settled.

-

Draco doesn't expect to hear from anyone on the actual day of his birthday. It falls on a weekday and Pansy and Blaise have made it clear that they don't intend to see Draco until the weekend. His mother and father gave him a set of quills the night before, and aside from them, there is no one else Draco is expecting. But when he wakes on the morning of his birthday, there is a tiny owl hopping from foot to foot outside of Draco's bedroom window. He lets it in and the little owl pecks at Draco's fingers as he unties the letter from its leg. It hoots expectantly in Draco's direction and when it realises that Draco isn't going to give it anything, it gives Draco an almost affronted look.

Draco opens the letter and recognizes Potter's scrawl. The message reads:

__

_Robards pushed meeting for today, 10am  
\- H_

Draco had been informed by Robards, for the second time in two days, that Harry Potter is his unofficial contact. Whatever time-sensitive information Draco might have is to be passed to Harry, who will ensure that it makes it to the right hands. Draco doesn't doubt that Robards is testing him, that he expects Potter to be harder on him because he's a Malfoy. Draco failing to close any of the cold cases assigned to him would be Robards' dream, a way for him to easily recommend Draco's removal from the Auror program.

Draco's ready. He makes sure that he leaves with extra time and with an updated list of new information he's gleaned from the poorly kept files he was given. He doesn't intend to make a good impression, just to be good enough that despite Robards's lack of enthusiasm for Draco, he will not be able to deny Draco's contribution to the team. But when Draco steps through the fireplace in the deserted meeting room in the back of the Auror offices, it isn't Robard who is waiting for him. It's Potter laying out cards from an Exploding Snap deck.

"Happy birthday," Harry says.

He looks good, better than when Draco last saw him. He's starting to go darker now that the summer sun is high in the sky. His usually warm brown skin has taken a deeper golden glow. Harry looks like he has filled out and Draco knows the constant running around on secret Ministry missions is doing him good. Harry's hair is longer too, just beginning to fall in waves over his forehead.

They haven't really spent time together in almost a month, between Draco's trips for Gringotts and Harry's attempt to close most of his open cases before his review in July. A month since Draco had Harry Potter alone in a locked room.

"Potter," Draco says.

Harry drops the deck of cards and turns his full attention to Draco. His smile is a slow, heady thing as he looks Draco over, his eyes lingering on Draco's mouth. Just like that, the room feels smaller than it is, the space between them insignificant as they look at each other. Draco can see the moment it occurs to Harry that the room is empty.

It starts slow. Harry takes a step forward and Draco takes one back. Harry's laugh is slightly breathless as he moves forward again. Draco stops moving, lets himself enjoy the playfulness in Harry's eyes. His giddiness is contagious and Draco can feel his own answering smile as Harry flexes his hands.

It moves quickly from there and Draco can't tell who grabs whom, but next thing he knows his back is against the wall across from the door. Harry's hands are in his hair and his body is pressed to Draco's front. Draco exhales on a groan and throws his head back against the wall. He can feel Harry's mouth against the side of his face, and the knowledge that he could just turn his face and meet Potter's mouth is heavy between them.

Draco inhales, fumbles with Harry's robes as he tries to get his hands underneath Potter's shirt. He's aware of where they are, that he's only allowed to touch for so long, that even as Harry starts kissing down his neck, Draco will have to pull away. But it's also his birthday and it has been too long since Draco's hands fit around Harry's hips, too long since Harry breathed out a sigh of relief against Draco's neck.

Harry's hand moves down Draco's front, his fingers catching on the buttons of Draco's shirt even as he bites down on the spot behind Draco's ear. Harry drops his head to Draco's shoulder, pulls back just enough to watch his hand catch on Draco's belt, his fingers sliding into the waistband of Draco's trousers.

Draco slides his hands into Harry's hair, grabs fistfuls and lifts Harry's head. He tells himself it'll just be a quick kiss, nothing too drawn out. Easily done and over. He can see when Harry realises what's happening, how his eyes drop immediately to Draco's mouth and he looks up, eyes half-lidded.

"Yeah," he whispers in the space between their mouths. "Do it."

Draco pushes off the wall and into Harry's space. Their noses touch and Draco can feel the heat from Potter's mouth, knows what it'll feel like once he gets his mouth on Harry's, knows that it'll be anything but quick. He sees Harry sway forward and he closes his eyes, moves to meet Harry halfway. They're so close, close enough that Draco can feel Harry's glasses digging into his cheekbone and just as he makes the last move forward, the door across from them bursts open.

*

Harry knows it's bad because Draco goes so still Harry has to pull away to make sure he's all right.

They're not quick enough. They can't be, not when Harry's hand is halfway into Draco's pants and their hands are buried in each other's hair. Harry steps back, gets as much distance as he can from Draco as he turns towards the door.

He can hear Draco's shaky exhale behind him, his soft curse. It's even worse than Harry thought because, despite their minimal efforts to be careful, Harry never expected that they would be caught like this.

"Mr Potter, Mr Malfoy," Kingsley Shackelbolt says, closing the door behind him. "We seem to have a predicament."

Besides him, Rita Skeeter grins, her bright red lipstick like a beacon of oncoming danger.


	9. Aftermath

Harry hasn't seen Draco in over a month and though the last story from the Prophet spoke about a trip to Hungary, Harry never had a chance to speak to Draco before he left. He had tried after Kingsley had properly locked the door to the abandoned meeting room where he and Rita Skeeter had found Harry and Draco. But Harry had been unable to say anything, as Kingsley impressed upon Skeeter the importance of maintaining appearances that Draco Malfoy was not a friend to either the Ministry or Harry.

There had been a lot of assurances from Skeeter that she would take the secret to her grave. The more she had talked, the paler Draco had gotten and the harder he had gripped his wand. Harry had known that it was only a matter of time before Draco snapped. Harry had wanted to assure him that things would be okay, that Harry was sorry that it had happened that way, that he would do whatever Kingsley hadn't done to make sure that Draco was safe.

"Really, there's no need to worry, Minister," Rita Skeeter had said in her simpering voice.

"Of course there isn't," Kingsley had said. "Not a word of what has been seen in this room will be spoken until Mr Malfoy closes his case."

Harry did not fully understand the logistics of the spell Kingsley had cast, but he knew it was magically binding enough to satisfy Draco. It had been only a brief reprieve because Draco had wasted no time in igniting the fireplace and leaving.

Harry had been left with the task of explaining what was happening to Kingsley. Afterwards, between the Ministry forms for disclosing intimate relationships with coworkers, and Kingsley's assurances that Robards didn't need to know yet, there hadn't been time for Harry to talk to Draco. By the time he had made it to Malfoy Manor, Narcissa Malfoy had told him that Draco was gone.

Now, here Harry is, working through a new set of reports concerning illegal trafficking of Class C Non-Tradables while Neville closes case after case. It's slightly disconcerting to watch the concentration with which Neville devotes himself to his work. He's starting to remind Harry of Hermione and the harried expression she had carried all through their fifth year. Ron, for his part, sits across from Harry's desk, flipping through photographs of possible suspects for Dawlish's most recent case. Boring work that Dawlish himself won't do, but that's important enough that Ron has taken to the task with gusto.

"You have to stop sulking, mate," Ron says when they're packing to go home.

"I'm not sulking," Harry says for what feels like the third time that day.

"Neville," Ron says, leaning over the stack of books on Neville's desk. "Neville, tell me Harry isn't sulking."

"He's sulking," Neville says, with barely a glance in Harry's direction.

"How would you even know?" Harry asks. "I haven't seen your face in three weeks."

Neville shrugs. "It's the general vibe of the office. I can feel the sulking through the books."

Ron laughs and the three of them head down to the lifts still arguing over Harry's moods over the past month. It's not about whether Harry has been moody or not. It's just that he's been worried and that translates into his everyday life in the form of less sleep than usual. He takes to running earlier in the mornings, to coming to the office before anyone else, to running himself ragged with anything he can get his hands on. He does his best to fill every minute of his day, taking to visiting Luna more often, and dropping by Dean and Seamus's to catch a game on TV.

It's that things are up in the air and Harry has not had time to talk to Draco.

That's all.

*

Draco doesn't want to go back. He's safe in Hungary, gets lost in the streets and the sounds of a different language. The magical community is smaller than the one in England, but Draco finds their own version of Diagon Alley in the market plaza, the entrance hidden behind the red pepper stand near the back of the spacious warehouse. There's even a small bar tucked into the shadows at the end of a long alley. Its entrance is a nondescript black door with gold trimmings. In the centre of the door hangs a small rainbow-coloured flag.

Draco passes it on his way to and from work every morning, always pauses a second too long when he sees the door but never goes in.

He doesn't want to go back to England and face Harry again. He doesn't want to admit to himself that despite his terror at seeing Rita Skeeter walking in on him and Potter, there is a part of him that doesn't care now that everything is in order. He's done a good job of pushing away the deadline on the horizon and a large part of him still wants to get his hands on Potter. It sits under Draco's skin like the hum of cicadas in the summer, a pleasant buzz that Draco knows is frank desire.

But to go back is to admit this, to admit to Potter that Draco wants him more than he wants to be careful. There is the danger in what they do, what Draco knows can't happen. He can't ever want Harry Potter more than he wants to do right by his parents.

If there was a way for Draco to assure himself that he would always put his family first despite what he might ever come to feel for Potter, it would be different. To have absolute control over himself would be enough. Draco would never have to worry that he might step out of line, might decide he wants to marry the wrong person.

Instead, Draco swings by the bar with the rainbow flag and gets lost in the beat of club music and the swirl of strobe lights. He picks up a beautiful blond with hair that compliments Draco's even though it's shades darker. They dance and Draco tells himself that the hands that grab his hips and the lips on his neck don't remind him of anyone. No one knows him in Hungary, so he lets himself get pulled into a cubicle in the bathroom at the back of the club. He leans his head back against the tiles and buries his hands in soft blond hair.

The next day, he goes again and it's another blond, taller than Draco, much broader, as pale as Draco can find. They fuck in the blond's flat and after, Draco leaves without saying goodbye. He goes back to the club the day after that, and the following, one person blurring into the next, and still when he lets his guard down, all Draco can see are worried green eyes.

But he can't go back to England. Not until he's sure. Not until it's safe.

*

"Cheer up, mate," Ron says, the day of Harry's birthday.

The day is warm, humid almost, when Harry goes on his run with Ron. They're on their last lap of the park, the leaves on the trees casting long shadows on the ground that get smaller the more the sun rises. There are more people out now, a mother pushing her pram as she makes her way through the park and out to the street. To their left is a group of teenagers, long, lanky, young men who keep shoving each other and laughing. In front, a group of giggling girls keeps tossing Harry and Ron covert glances.

"We should go," Harry tells Ron, turning abruptly away from the group of girls.

Ron frowns, sees the girls, and turns away with a pained expression. "Blimey, I'd forgotten that they hang out in groups," he whispers to Harry as they make their way to the exit.

"Yeah," Harry says, amused. "Must be terribly hard asking girls out with Hermione hanging 'round all the time."

"Hey, now," Ron says. "Don't go trying to get me in trouble with Hermione."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Harry says but he's grinning.

"You're lucky it's your birthday," Ron says, darkly.

It's with better spirits that Harry Apparates back to his flat. He showers and changes into the dark bottle-green robes Fred and George sent him. The note attached says that Ginny chose the colour and when Harry looks in the mirror, he's pleased with how it all comes together.

He takes the Floo to the Burrow. He knows it's early but by the time he gets there, most of the Weasleys are already there. Fred immediately pulls him into a hug and passes him off to George who passes Harry off to Ginny who grins wide and pushes Harry in Bill's direction. Harry shakes Bill's hand and looks around for Ron. Instead, he catches sight of Charlie who is glaring in Bill's direction. When he catches Harry's eye, though, Charlie smiles and it's as disconcertingly attractive as it was the first time Harry met him.

Charlie and Bill have always been attractive, but where Bill is tall and thin, Charlie is shorter and well-built. He fills out his shirt nicely and the freckles on his face give him a nice sunkissed look. His hair is longer than the last time Harry saw him and he's taken to letting it sit on top of his head, artfully ruffled. It occurs to Harry, for the first time, that it would just be his luck to have stumbled into a family full of attractive people. But he remembers Ron and cringes before he can help himself.

"What's wrong?" Bill asks, stepping aside to casually block Charlie from view.

"What's going on?" Harry asks instead.

Bill winks but refuses to answer Harry's question. He tells Harry about Victoire instead, about how she's starting to try to walk now, how they've been setting up playdates with Teddy. Harry asks after Fleur and when it looks like Charlie is heading their way, Bill abruptly shoves Harry back at Ginny.

"Okay," Harry says. "What do you know?"

Ginny grins at him. "Let's go see Ron and Hermione. They're in the kitchen."

Harry lets Ginny lead him through the sitting room the long way around so that they avoid Bill and Charlie. He wants to ask, but as soon as Ron sees him, he buries his head in his hands and groans. Hermione laughs quietly on Ron's other side.

"Why are you here?" Ron asks from in between his fingers. "Dinner isn't for another two hours."

"Ron, don't be mean," Ginny says, still smiling pleasantly at Harry. "Harry's always welcomed here. Especially today."

Harry looks between the three of them, at Hermione's barely contained glee, Ron's distress, and Ginny's clear amusement. He glances out of the kitchen door and into the sitting room in time to see Fred and George looking pointedly away. Harry shakes his head, takes the seat to Hermione's right so that he can see out into the sitting room.

"Tell me," he says.

"Oh, please do," Hermione says, patting Ron on the head.

"It was Ron's idea, anyway," Ginny says, solemnly. "He should be the one to tell it."

"I didn't mean it," Ron says, looking up at Harry. "I just wanted to make out with my girlfriend."

"Aw," Hermione says. "That's almost sweet."

Harry stares pointedly at Ginny and she grins.

"Okay, I'll do it," she says. "Ron came over to tell us about the girls you saw at the park and how he's glad he doesn't do that anymore."

"It was actually very sweet," Hermione says. "He only meant to say that he wouldn't pick anyone else over me."

"But then Fred and George wanted to know who was the one person we'd choose over our significant others," Ginny says. "Mostly they just wanted to see if they could get Ron to say he'd pick Fleur. But Charlie looked us all straight in the face and said the answer was obviously you, Harry."

Ron makes a soft distressed sound and Ginny bursts into laughter.

"Huh," Harry says, looking out at Charlie in the sitting room.

"Harry, Harry, please," Ron says when he sees where Harry's looking. "If you love me, if you value our friendship, please tell me you won't shag my brother."

"Well, I wasn't going to, but now that you mention it," Harry says.

Ron gapes and Harry can't help himself. Over the sounds of Ginny's delighted giggles, he calls out into the sitting room.

"Hey, Charlie, let's do this," Harry says, pointing between himself and Charlie.

The room bursts into excited cheers and Charlie grins. "Cheers, Harry," he says.

Next to Harry, Ron thunks his head against the kitchen table.

*

The problem is that what Draco wants can never matter more than what is best for his family. His mother sacrificed everything to get back to Draco during the Battle of Hogwarts. His father lost everything, and Draco was raised to value his family because, at the end of the day, it was all he would ever have. After the war, his parents had been the only people Draco had been able to count on. Despite his father's withdrawal and his mother's silence, Draco had felt safe at Malfoy Manor. Knowing there was a place that he could go back to, that could be home again with the Dark Lord gone, had made all the difference in his last year at Hogwarts.

He can't gamble that away for insignificant fun with anyone, but most especially with Potter. Because Potter has too many friends and family, too many people who care for him and want to know about his well being, whether he eats, whether he's being treated well. There's no containing that kind of care, the undignified expressions of love that lead to thoroughly knowing someone.

It's too dangerous. Draco has a career to build, a name to redeem, and he must be ever so careful.

-

Draco doesn't expect Pansy and Blaise. It's mid-September and Draco knows he can't stay much longer. He has cases to close and sources to form, and the Hungarian streets get colder much faster than the streets in England. He knows that he will not hold up solving a case to protect himself and he's starting to suspect that Kingsley is aware of this fact. Draco makes tentative plans to get his affairs in order so that he can head back to England by the end of September.

He still gets the Prophet delivered and Draco keeps up with the new round of laws being drafted at the Ministry. He sees that the law concerning blood status for family members of Death Eaters was repealed. There is news of anti-discrimination laws, new policies regarding trials for those who were never Death Eaters, but who aided Death Eaters during the war. Draco remembers Dolores Umbridge and her quick departure to France after the Battle of Hogwarts. There's talk of extradition and pushes for better control for the selling and trading of Dark artefacts. Draco is mentioned by name in a section regarding Gringotts Curse-Breakers and whether the Ministry should exert stronger control over Goblin matters.

There are things Draco would say if anyone listened to him. He has opinions, and though he knows the idea that he could ever hold any sort of influence over Ministry matters is laughable, he also knows that he would be good at the job. Perhaps it's because he indulges in fantasies of actually holding office at the Ministry that it becomes easier to stray to thoughts of other things. He imagines a neat life where he lives with a wife who grows to be a partner, who understands him and makes no demands of him. He starts straying into numbers, into telling himself he can handle a thirty-year marriage until enough time has passed, and he has sired enough heirs, that his parents won't care what he does with his life. How it might be possible for him to start living later in life.

He counts out the years and the number is depressingly large but doable. So Draco redoes his calculations and tells himself he can do it. That he's ready to go back. And just when things are in order, Blaise and Pansy show up outside of his flat.

It's a cold fall afternoon on Saturday, near noon. Draco opens the door to find Pansy and Blaise in the alley outside of Draco's side door. Pansy's dark hair is loose and it spills over her shoulders as she leans her head back to look at Draco. There is an unimpressed look on her face and she wastes no time in pushing past Draco and into his kitchen. Blaise is nicer about it. He leans against Draco's door frame and lets his eyes drag over Draco, letting them rest for a moment on Draco's eyes and the sleepless nights evident there.

"Draco," Blaise says. "You haven't called."

"He hasn't wanted to, Blaise," Pansy answers from inside. "Otherwise, we would have known where he was from him and not from the Prophet."

Blaise rolls his eyes. "Pansy is just angry because her parents want her to marry Theodore."

Draco turns to Pansy and Blaise takes the opportunity to step inside and close the door behind him.

"Very nice," Blaise says, looking at the marble counters in the kitchen and the light blue walls.

The kitchen opens up into the sitting room where Draco has two large, leather couches and a coffee table. Further down the hall is a bathroom and Draco's room. Not as impressive as the Manor, but comfortable enough given that Draco does his best to spend as little time as possible in his flat.

"I'm not marrying Theodore," Pansy says to Draco's unasked question. "Can you imagine? Last I heard, he was hiding Fenrir Greyback in his basement."

"Greyback is at Nott's?" Draco asks.

He takes the tea Pansy offers him, watered-down Earl Grey from whatever Draco has leftover in his pantry.

"You need to go shopping," Pansy says. "Maybe Blaise can take you."

"Draco doesn't want to go with me," Blaise says. "We haven't been alone in too long."

Draco knows they're working up to something. He can see it in the bored way Blaise looks over Draco's kitchen, in the casual way Pansy sips at her tea. Indirects have always been the way they talk to each other and Draco suddenly finds that he's tired of it. Besides, he figures if Potter can be free with his secrets then Draco's allowed to be free with Potter's. But once he's faced with actually telling Pansy and Blaise, the words seem to die at his throat. He can feel the faint stirrings of panic in the irregular beating of his heart.

Pansy notices it first, but Blaise is the one who says, "We know about Potter."

Draco puts down his cup of tea to hide the way his hands are shaking. He looks from Pansy to Blaise's neutral expression and silently waits for their judgment. He would do the same if their positions were reversed.

"We ran into him at Diagon Alley," Blaise says. "He asked after you."

"The man has no concept of what subtlety is," Pansy says. "Really, to ask us out in the open. He could have at least owled. Then Blaise would have had time to pretend he hadn't fucked you during our entire time at Hogwarts."

"You'd think I'd told him all the sordid details," Blaise says, looking at Draco, carefully.

Draco opens his mouth to say something but can't find anything to add. He finds that their conversation has calmed him, that the easy way Pansy has of ploughing through the harder details as though they're nothing is comforting.

"He looked really annoyed with poor Blaise for some reason," Pansy says. "So naturally, we assumed he's the reason you have a tendency to show up to lunch with teeth marks on your neck."

"Naturally," Draco says.

"We would have asked sooner," Blaise says. "But unlike the object of your current love affair, we do know the art of subtlety. And Pansy and I had a bet going as to when you would tell us yourself, so she wasn't allowed to push."

Draco tries his best, but he can't help the flinch at Blaise's mention of a love affair and they notice because, of course, they do.

"Oh," Pansy says.

Draco can't look at them. He doesn't understand where the need comes from, but he wants to get out, to walk until he can't recognize the streets until he's so far away, he has no hope of finding his way back. He glances at the kitchen window, at the grey clouds and the way they make the cobblestone streets on this side feel darker. His kitchen is too small. The whole flat is too small.

"Hey," Blaise says, and it's the unusual softness to his voice that makes Draco pay attention. "Come sit."

Pansy takes Draco's right arm and Blaise takes Draco's left. Together they walk into Draco's sitting room. Draco has painted the walls a soft green that reminds him of his room back at home, an attempt at making the flat feel more his own. He sits and Pansy sits next to him. Draco lets himself be coaxed into putting his head on Pansy's lap as Blaise takes the armchair to their right.

It happens as Pansy begins combing her fingers through Draco's hair. One minute, he's lost in the textured paint on his walls and the next, he's telling them everything. He talks about his parents without meaning to, about the silence in the Manor walls, how it had lived and mutated until it was all Draco knew. He tells them about Harry Potter asking after him, about Potter's incessant need to know what Draco is doing and where he is, and whether he feels well. He tells them about the kiss, the small quick one after Draco had come back from Albania, about how things had changed after that.

He finds that the more he tells them, the more he starts to remember. And how could he have forgotten the moments in between? Like how once, it had started raining so hard just as Draco had been leaving that Draco had had no choice but to stay until it passed. He and Harry had sat on Harry's couch, Draco's head on Harry's lap as Harry told him about Auror training, about dinner with the Weasley's, about how sometimes he felt as though he might not fit.

Draco finds it hard to stop then. He closes his eyes as he tells them about Rita Skeeter and the almost kiss. About Kinglsey and the cases Draco still carries with him, about how he knows Robards is trying to get him fired and how Draco can't let that happen. He tells them about the club and the men whose name's Draco can't remember. When he's done, Draco lets the silence settle into him and it's a relief to exhale and find his chest free of fear.

"Robards can go fuck himself," Pansy says. "Mother used to go to school with him and she says everyone was surprised he ever made it to Head Auror. Apparently, family money doesn't only serve Slytherins."

Draco laughs. "That would explain why Kingsley seems so reluctant to share information with him."

"He's probably just waiting for the day he can replace Robards and not have an inquiry down his throat for favouritism," Pansy says. "He can't possibly promote Potter yet. But give it a few years."

Draco nods his agreement. He can see Blaise fiddling with his wand from the corner of his eyes. He seems to be deep in thought over something.

"You're not getting kicked out of Auror training and Pansy isn't marrying Theodore Nott," Blaise says, finally. "You're not," he insists when Pansy opens her mouth to argue. "You don't want that."

"It's never been about what we want, has it, Blaise?" she asks.

They're quiet for a moment and Draco thinks back to Hogwarts, to the way Pansy has always been confident in who she is. How she had pursued Draco and Millicent during Hogwarts, how she has always been clear in who she wants, even when they don't want her back. Blaise is the same, unapologetic in his wants, so much so that he had scared Draco in the beginning. But here they are, the three of them having found some way back to each other, all of them carrying the same thing and letting it hurt them in different measures.

"Your mother won't care," Blaise says and Draco isn't sure if he's talking to Pansy or to him. "She loves you. Sometimes things, mundane as they may be, are just that simple."

The impossibility of Blaise's statement hangs over them. Outside, the wind blows against the windowpanes and it sounds to Draco like someone is trying to get in.

"It doesn't always work out that way for some of us," Pansy says, finally. "But thank you, Blaise."

Draco can't leave it at that. He can't let Pansy marry someone because she feels like she has to, because her duty is only to her family and not to herself. Draco recognizes hypocrisy even when it's coming from him, but it matters that it's Pansy. Because Pansy Parkinson, for all that she has done, wants to be better, and just because Draco has to live with impossibilities, doesn't mean that Pansy should.

"How credible is the information about Greyback?" Draco asks, catching Blaise's encouraging smile out of the corner of his eye.

Pansy raises an eyebrow. "I'm supposed to marry the man. I think I would know if my fiancé was keeping a werewolf in his basement."

"So close a case," Blaise says. "Pansy can't marry Theodore if he's in Azkaban. And it's not like Nott wasn't asking to be picked up, with all the things he's been doing recently."

There is the reason for Draco to go back. Knowing that he can get Fenrir and close one of his cases is enough incentive, a credible excuse should anyone ask. Draco sits up and finds Blaise's green eyes on him.

"It doesn't have to mean anything, Draco," Blaise says. "It never has to mean more than you want it to."

Draco looks at Blaise and remembers him when they were fourteen, young and eager to prove themselves. How their mutual disdain for anything that didn't meet their arbitrary standards had brought them together. How at the Yule Ball, Draco had slipped away from Pansy and in an empty classroom, had finally gotten his hands on Blaise Zabini. How everything had moved too fast and Draco hadn't known what to do, how Blaise had taken Draco's face in his hands and had told him he was safe.

"Thank you," Draco says and means it more than he could ever put into words.

*

Harry doesn't mean for anything to happen between him and Charlie Weasley. It's not even really his fault he ends up sitting next to Charlie every time he's invited to dinner. He's not the one who's on vacation from hunting dragons in Romania. And he's most certainly not the one who keeps forgetting something in the kitchen whenever the chairs next to Harry are both occupied. That's all Ginny, Fred, and George, and in one particularly hilarious scenario, Percy forgetting his fork even though Mrs Weasley had just handed him one. Harry's not the one who keeps stealing Charlie's seats in the sitting room and then making sure that the only seat available is the one next to Harry.

Ron does a wonderful job of running intervention, of pushing Harry down onto the armchair whenever he gets a chance, or giving Harry the corner seat at dinner, next to Mr Weasley. Still, Harry finds himself talking to Charlie more than he has in the last nine years he has known Ron. They were both Seekers and Harry remembers Oliver Wood telling Harry that Charlie could have played for England. So they have to have a match, and the rest of the Weasley's have to join in, and Ginny takes it as a personal challenge to beat Charlie's team. Harry has fun watching the way Charlie plays. He's out of practice but it's obvious that he has considerable skills especially when he goes up against Ginny. Harry hangs back and watches the very obvious talent in front of him.

"I think I'm in love," he says to Hermione when she flies near enough.

She laughs and misses the pass Ron sends her way, and it's all in good fun. Even the way Charlie has taken to flirting with Harry is just simple fun. Neither of them is serious about it and it makes them both laugh whenever Ron is in the room. Things are good so Harry isn't expecting the fall when it comes.

-

One day at the beginning of October, he sees the first orange leaf and it's as though that is the sign his body has been waiting for. He keeps taking his meds, the little white pill in the morning and the pink one at night. It gets harder for Harry to wake up in the mornings and the cloudy skies don't motivate him to go out for his usual walks. If it weren't for Ron coming to get him every morning, Harry might sleep in. But Ron comes and brings Harry tea from the Black Sheep Cafe and whatever pastry, or dessert, Mrs Weasley has baked the day before.

The temperature drops and the sun comes out later in the day, so some weekends, Harry sleeps late. Since it's the weekend, Ron doesn't come to get him and it's Hermione who pushes. She's always at his door by eleven in the morning, looking far more awake than Harry has felt in the past month. She'll take him to Diagon Alley, where they swing by the Eeylops Owl Emporium, or to visit Fred and George. Hermione has gotten good at finding side streets and darkened alley shortcuts so that the visits are mostly people free.

There are some days when Harry's at his flat, watching the faucet drip or the flickering lamps in the street, and he feels nothing. He gets lost in the sounds around him, in the feel of a cool glass in his hand, but he can't feel anything past that. He'll pace around his kitchen, go down his list of things he's grateful for, and the guilt will eat at him. Until all he wants to do is disappear, just cease to exist for a moment while he gathers himself. Nothing extreme, just a moment of complete silence, just so he can reset and start over.

He'll think about the Forbidden Forest, about his mother and father, about Sirius and Remus and Tonks. He'll remember it's October and the anniversary is coming and he'll have to go to the cemetery behind the little church to lay down a garland of lilies. Again. He'll have to stop by the house and pick up the gifts, throw away the dead flowers, and know that they're all empty gestures because he can't have his parents back.

It all builds under Harry's skin and he tells Dr Griffith who suggests an appointment with Harry's psychiatrist. There's talk of increasing his dosages and all of it just grows larger around Harry. He feels it like a knotted mass at the centre of his chest that won't let him breathe. He wishes that he could just make it go away, and it occurs to him that what he wants is to get lost in the feel of another body against him. He finds, in a moment of startling clarity, that what he wants more than anything is Draco Malfoy.

That is when Harry realises how much he's been relying on Draco. He realises that it's, perhaps, not the healthiest thing he has ever done. But he tells Dr Griffith and Dr Griffith smiles at him over his glasses and says, "You know there isn't a person alive who can save you."

"Yes," Harry says. "I know."

Dr Griffith nods and with the infinite wisdom of a man in his late fifties, he says, "That doesn't mean that you can't have good things in your life, Harry. You are and have always been deserving of things that make you happy."

And Harry's just starting to realise that Draco may be what makes him happy when he gets the call from Dawlish. It's after hours, a week from October 31st, and Harry's in the middle of walking around his flat for the third time in an hour. He's grateful for the late call and the excuse to think of anything else. He locks his flat behind himself, gets far enough to Disapparate, and takes the visitor's entrance through the bathroom stalls.

He runs into Ron and Charlie at the front desk and Harry's pleasantly surprised. Ron must see it on his face because he moves to get in between them. Charlie sidesteps him and throws an arm around Harry. Harry thinks that maybe this is also what he's been missing, something easy and fun, with no baggage attached. But even as he thinks it, he knows that it wouldn't be the same.

"Charlie was just leaving," Ron says, pointedly.

"I came to fill out some forms. I'm trying to get permission to go after a dragon in the Scottish mountains," Charlie says. "Someone said they think it's the albino dragon you guys freed two years ago."

"You're staying?" Harry asks, holding back a grin at Ron's eye roll.

Charlie shrugs. "It's a nice view here in England."

Ron pretends to gag and Harry laughs.

*

Pansy and Blaise stay with Draco until he's ready to go back to England. He gathers intel, gets everything he can from Pansy, and has a plan laid out before they catch their first train back to England. The trip back takes them through countryside painted in an array of fall colours, bright reds, oranges and yellows that remind Draco of Quidditch in the backyard of Malfoy Manor.

He stops home just long enough to say hello to his mother and to allow her to fuss over the state of his clothing. He has been sleeping better ever since Pansy and Blaise came to stay with him. He'd given up the late nights and anonymous bodies, had settled for the warmth of a night in while Pansy and Blaise filled him in on the latest gossip. He's well prepared for his mother's gentle insistence that he might want to visit with the Greengrasses and apologize for missing his birthday party when he left. He's even prepared for the silence between him and his father, the barely perceptible nod when Draco gets back. The silence is of a familiar sort, the same as it was before Draco left for Hungary, a silent sort of judgement, as though Lucius has expectations that Draco is failing to meet.

Lucius Malfoy is coming alive and Draco finds himself more assured by that than anything else Pansy and Blaise have told him.

Draco drops his things off in his bedroom, spares a glance for the blue sheets. He waves his wand and they go a deep red that matches the walls of Harry Potter's bedroom. He doesn't dwell on it. Instead, Draco sends off a Patronus to Dawlish instead of Potter. He only means to give himself time because he knows he'll have to see Potter before the night is done.

Dawlish arranges a meeting place and Draco takes the file on Fenrir Greyback and the notes he's put together. He bids his parents farewell and goes out into the night.

-

Draco doesn't expect to run into Potter at the Atrium, much less to see Harry laughing with another man's arm around his shoulders. Draco stays where he is by the fireplaces and he doesn't recognize the first surge of feeling. It's like a band has wrapped around his chest and is making it harder for him to breathe. The man with Harry is obviously Ron Weasley's brother, shorter than Draco, but well-built and handsome. He's older, at ease in Harry's space, and confident in the way he flirts. Draco watches Harry laugh and the sudden anger is easier to handle.

Draco has lived with anger for so long now, he knows what to do with it. He allows himself to feel it, the way it burns at his throat for a moment before Draco pushes it down. He has no expectations here, no reason to think that Harry Potter would wait. He would never dream of Potter owing him anything. So Draco straightens his clothes and heads towards Potter and the Weasleys.

Ron Weasley sees him first and Draco would laugh at his inability to control his facial expression, but Potter notices, and before Draco can prepare himself, Potter is turning. He and Ron Weasley's brother still have their arms around each other, so they turn together in a ridiculous shuffling of feet and limbs. Then Potter is looking at Draco and Draco is looking at him, and if it were another day and they were somewhere else, Draco might shove Weasley's arm off Potter's shoulder. If they were different people, they might not even be in this situation and Draco might be back at home with Potter in his arms.

Instead, they're here.

"Malfoy," Harry says and he sounds almost breathless. "I didn't know you'd be here."

Draco raises an eyebrow and tries not to look at the arm around Harry's shoulder. But Potter notices and what's worse, the Weasleys notice.

"I'm Charlie Weasley," he says, extending the hand that isn't on Harry.

Draco turns cool grey eyes on Charlie Weasley and shakes his hand. "Draco Malfoy," he says.

He sees the recognition on Charlie Weasley's face but the moment passes. Charlie smiles at him and Draco hates that he's attractive. The same way Weasley's sister is attractive and everyone that Potter seems to hang around is attractive.

"I was just leaving," Charlie says, looking between Harry and Draco.

Draco very carefully doesn't look at Potter. He keeps his eyes on the lifts behind the reception desk. He's waiting for Dawlish and whatever may be happening around him is of little importance. But Charlie Weasley is older, more experienced, and handsome.

"Always nice to meet a friend of Harry's," Charlie says.

Draco looks at him and there is understanding there, but he still gives Harry's shoulder one last squeeze before he goes. Then it's just Ron Weasley, Harry, and Draco who is doing his best to ignore that Potter is right next to him.

"When did you get back?" Harry asks.

"Obviously much earlier than I should have," Draco says, unable to help himself.

He wishes Blaise were here. Blaise would know what to say, how to dispel the horrible tension in the room. Draco doesn't want this, but he can't help the simmering of anger and the leftover feelings of betrayal. It's his own fault and he knows it. He had told Harry where he was going all the times he'd had to leave before and this last time, he had disappeared with no word. They owe each other nothing. This is the way Draco wants it and still, he can't help the bitterness in his tone.

"Draco," Harry says, stepping forward.

Draco's eyes flick towards Weasley, but he's moved aside and is busy with the sheets of paper on the empty welcome desk. Only when Draco is sure there is no one else does he allow himself to look at Potter. It's a shame that Draco's memory never does him justice.

"What's wrong?" Potter asks.

Draco says nothing, but he must be giving something away because Potter's green eyes go wide and his mouth drops open. Draco doesn't understand how Potter can read him so easily and instead of frightening him, it infuriates him.

"Charlie and I are just—"

"You don't owe me explanations," Draco says, cutting him off.

He's overly aware of Weasley just steps away from them, but Harry doesn't seem to care. He moves forward again, his hands reaching out towards Draco. Draco takes a step back.

"I have files we need to go over," he says. "It's Fenrir Greyback."

"Draco," Harry tries again.

The lifts open and Dawlish steps out looking annoyed but wide awake. Harry closes his mouth on what he was going to say.

"This better be good, Malfoy," Dawlish says. "I gave up a good meal for this."

Draco tosses the file onto the welcome desk. He goes through what they know about Greyback, about the early suspicions that someone with connections to the Death Eaters was hiding him. Draco tells them about the basement with the escape routes into the sea at the Nott estate. He leaves out Pansy, but Dawlish asks how he knows.

"I was out with someone," Draco says. "They mentioned having escape routes in their home and I remembered Nott and I used to play there, sometimes, when we were younger."

Dawlish makes a grimace of distaste and Draco pretends he doesn't see it.

"All right," Dawlish says, eventually. "This is good. I have to get Robards but don't go anywhere. We'll want to move fast. Weasley with me."

Weasley throws Potter a look, but Potter shakes his head and Draco knows no one is going to argue an order from Dawlish. Draco busies himself with gathering his papers. He's doing a good job of ignoring Potter's gaze on the side of his face.

"So," Potter says, finally. "You saw other people in Hungary?"

Draco turns slowly, lets the anger push its way to the surface. "Charlie Weasley, huh?" Draco says. "I didn't take the Weasleys for cradle-robbers."

"That's not fair," Harry says, and Draco is almost glad to see him getting angry. "You aren't allowed to talk about the Weasleys."

"I can talk about anyone I damn well please," Draco says, lowly.

He watches the anger spark in Potter's green eyes, the way he clenches his jaw. Potter's breathing heavier and Draco's body reacts to it, predictably.

"Not that it seems to matter to you," Harry says. "But Charlie and I aren't seeing each other because, unlike you, I waited."

That is too close to an admission of things Draco doesn't want. It's hard to temper panic so immediate. Draco doesn't know what to do with it. He thinks of Blaise, his pitying eyes and his kind words. Draco takes a breath and it doesn't have to mean more than what Draco wants it to mean.

"You shouldn't have waited," he says, knowing even as he says it that it's the wrong thing. "I didn't. We don't owe each other anything. If you want to date a Weasley old enough to be your father, then do so."

He's not looking at Potter, wouldn't be able to even if he wanted.

"We have nothing?" Harry asks, the anger evident in his voice.

It's too late to take it back and they're too out in the open for Draco to admit he's mistaken.

"Fine," Harry says. "Maybe I will date Charlie. He was a Seeker at Hogwarts, too. Good enough to play for England and you know me, I just love Quidditch players."

Draco turns away. He doesn't realise he's clenching his teeth until the lift doors open again and Dawlish comes back. Weasley and Savage follow and Draco takes the excuse to pretend Harry Potter has ceased to exist.

"Robards wants us to move," Dawlish says as he gets to them. "We have the element of surprise and between the five of us, I'm sure we can capture two ex-Death Eaters. I have Proudfoot on standby just in case. Don't want to be overconfident."

The five of them gather around the welcome desk again as Dawlish lays out the plan. He separates them into two groups, Draco, Harry, and Dawlish in one, and Weasley and Savage in another. Draco doesn't miss what it means that he's being allowed to go. Even though he knows his name won't be anywhere in the Prophet news tomorrow, he's grateful for the chance Dawlish is giving him. It bodes well for Draco to have Dawlish on his side. Robards be damned.

"Eyes open," Dawlish says, and as one, they head out.


	10. Homenum Revelio

Draco Apparates them to the foot of a mountain in the Isle of Skye. The Nott estate sits atop an overcropping of rock overlooking the vast sea in the distance. There's only one way up, through a grassy path that winds up the mountain. With the setting sun and the yellowing grass, the vast nothingness opposite the Nott estate seems to extend forever. Harry turns, putting his back to Ron's as he holds out his wand. Harry looks over the castle in the distance, its rocky walls smoothed out by the salt air. It sits out in the open, no apparent gates or barriers around it.

"Over here," Draco says.

Draco walks past Harry without sparing him a glance. A few metres from where they've Apparated is a cave about two metres high and barely wide enough for two people. When they get near enough, Harry can just make out a thin, dark red film over the entrance. It reminds him of the gate at Malfoy Manor and he turns to look at Draco.

Draco is still not looking at him, but Harry knows that this isn't the time to talk about what happened at the Atrium.

"There's no point in trying to get past that," Draco tells their group. "Someone will have spelt it so that only Greyback can get in and out."

"Someone?" Dawlish asks.

"Nott doesn't have the skills to cast this kind of spell," Draco says.

"So we're expecting more than two people in there?" Ron asks.

Draco turns to look at them and Harry can see the worry in his grey eyes. Harry read the notes, knows the ins and outs of the castle in the distance. There shouldn't be more than two people in there. Nott's father died during the Battle of Hogwarts and his mother is currently on a trip to France. They're only expecting Nott and Greyback, but Draco's hesitation is enough to give Harry pause.

"Should we call for backup?" Harry asks.

Draco looks at Harry for the first time since they arrived. "There are five of us," he says. "And Nott doesn't have the kind of influence needed to gather followers."

"We can always cast a _Revelio_ , once we're in position," Dawlish says. "I left Proudfoot waiting and in a pinch, we can pull Williamson."

With that, they break into two groups. Ron and Savage will stay by the cave and Dawlish, Malfoy, and Harry will go knock on Nott's door.

In the distance, the sun begins its final descent and the shadows along the ground grow longer. Once the sun has fully set, Dawlish gives the order and they move.

"See you later," Harry says to Ron.

Ron grins as he waves and Harry turns, knowing there is nothing he can do now. He follows Dawlish and Draco up the winding path, the steep ascent knocking some of the air from his lungs. They climb in silence, wands out, as night settles over them. When they reach the top, Dawlish motions Harry and Draco behind him. They come to a stop far away enough to be able to keep an eye on the sides of the castle. Dawlish strides forward, knocks on the wooden door and waits. Draco shifts next to Harry, but Harry's eyes are on Dawlish in the distance.

"Who is it?" a voice calls from the other side of the door.

"Auror Dawlish," Dawlish says. "We're here to speak to Theodore Nott."

For a moment, there's silence from inside. But then the voice calls out again. "Come in," it says.

"I'm going to cast a spell to confirm the number of people inside," Dawlish calls.

He gets an affirmative from inside the castle, waves his wand, and lifts two fingers for Harry and Draco to see. Draco makes to move forward and Harry reaches out without thinking about it, his arm catching Draco around the middle. Draco shakes his head and shoves Harry's arm away.

"Okay," Dawlish calls. "We're coming in."

Dawlish reaches forward, just as Draco steps past Harry.

"Wait," Draco says.

But it's too late. As Dawlish puts his hand on the doorknob, there's a bang and an explosion of red lights that seem to seep into Dawlish's skin. He screams as he falls to the ground and Draco curses.

"Don't touch the door, Potter," he says, kneeling over Dawlish.

Harry looks between Draco and the doorknob, down to where Dawlish is writhing in agony. Draco taps his wand against Dawlish and Dawlish's skin takes on a green hue.

"Poison," Draco says. "He needs to get to St. Mungo's."

"Okay," Harry says. "You take him. I'll get Nott."

Draco looks up at Harry, his grey eyes unimpressed, and in the new light from the rising moon, Harry can see the traces of stress on Draco's face.

"I don't think so, Potter," he says. "If this is what I think it is, you're going to need me to break the curse on the door. So if anyone should be taking Dawlish, it's you."

Harry shakes his head. "Not happening, Malfoy. I'm not leaving you here alone."

"Proudfoot," Draco says.

Harry frowns, but Draco has already pulled his wand and is casting a Patronus. Draco speaks to it and they watch it disappear into the night. Sometime later, Proudfoot Apparates in front of them. He glances between Malfoy and Dawlish, to Harry.

"Who sent the tracking spell?" he asks.

Draco nods.

"Nice bit of magic, that," Proudfoot says, moving to Dawlish's side.

Harry watches as Proudfoot murmurs his own spells. Draco says something to him quietly and Proudfoot nods. He gets his arms around Dawlish who has gone eerily still.

"I'll be back," Proudfoot says. He turns on the spot and is gone.

It's just Harry and Draco now, alone at the top of the outcropping of rocks, standing in front of Nott's home. Harry raises his wand higher and moves closer to Draco.

"What do we do?" he asks.

Draco rolls up his sleeves and Harry's eyes are drawn to his left forearm. There are scars running up the middle of Draco's arm and in the low light, they could be a skull and a snake. Draco catches Harry looking and the tilt of his chin is defiant.

"Have a problem, Potter?" he asks.

Harry looks at him, makes sure Draco is looking back. "No," he says. "That was never the problem between us."

Draco says nothing for a moment. Then, he turns back to the door, raises his wand, and says, "Stand back."

Harry moves closer until he's right behind Draco. He figures if Draco hasn't moved farther than that, neither will he. He watches Draco work, murmuring spells under his breath as he waves his wand over the door. It reminds Harry of his last trip with Dumbledore, how Dumbledore had seemed so sure of what he was doing. Draco doesn't take long. After he's done with the spells, he waves his wand and the doorknob glows red. It falls to the ground and the grass around it freezes instantly.

"Stand back," Draco says again.

This time he takes a step back and Harry has to take one too or risk Draco falling against him. The doorknob glows a brighter red and begins to twist and elongate until it resembles something like a skull. Draco waves his wand again and a crack appears down the top of the skull from the occipital to the parietal bone. Green goo oozes like blood from the crack and melts into the surrounding dirt.

"Cursed skull," Draco says with distaste. "And a couple of transfiguration spells."

"Is it safe now?" Harry asks.

Draco nods and Harry springs forward. He's only thinking that Nott will have had enough time to go for the tunnels that lead right to Ron and Savage. He doesn't stop to think that this could be a trap, that Nott might be waiting on the other side of the door. But Draco is thinking about it because just as Harry pushes the door open, he feels a body slamming into him. They go down hard against the stone floors, a jet of green light soaring above their heads.

Draco rolls away almost at once and Harry casts a Shield Charm in Draco's general direction. There's a bang, a flash of blue light as Nott's spell hits Harry's Shield Charm. Harry gets to his feet and sees Draco duck around Harry's spell. Nott takes off towards the stairs at the far end of the corridor and Draco follows him.

Harry takes off after them but doesn't make it farther than three strides before he sees a blur of grey and brown out of the corner of his eyes. He turns and Fenrir Greyback runs at him, hands curled into claws. Greyback snarls and Harry has only enough time to see yellowed teeth and dark, bloodied stains on his tattered shirt, before Greyback hits Harry straight in the chest.

They fall backwards and Harry lifts his hands reflexively against Greyback's attack. Harry's wand arm is pinned beneath him and he twists to push Greyback off him. But Greyback has size and desperation on his side, and Harry can feel his arm twisting up his back. He grunts as Greyback gets his knee on Harry's stomach, and Harry can feel his hold weakening. He curls to protect himself, and just as he feels Greyback's hot breath on his face, there's a bang and Fenrir Greyback goes flying.

Harry springs to his feet and sends a stunning spell at Greyback. The spell catches Greyback in the centre of his chest and he topples over. Draco steps forward, waves his wand, and ropes appear to bind Greyback's arms and legs.

"Where's Nott?" Harry asks, breathing hard.

"Are you all right?" Draco asks at the same time.

Harry takes stock of himself and finds that everything feels all right. His heart is beating loudly in his chest and his lungs feel like they're on fire. But Harry looks at Draco and something about this moment feels familiar.

"I'm fine," Harry says. "Thanks."

Draco nods. "We should let Weasley and Savage know that we have Greyback," he says. "Nott is in the sitting room. He was trying to get to his Floo powder."

"You got Nott?" Harry asks, impressed.

"It wasn't that difficult," Draco says, sounding almost offended. "Nott was never going to get far magically. He shouldn't have gone for the Floo."

"Oh," Harry says. "And what would you have done?"

"I would have gone for the tunnel," he says.

"And taken your chances with Savage and Ron?"

Draco frowns. "I wouldn't have known about Weasley or Savage," he says. "But they wouldn't have been able to get me through the protections on the cave."

Harry grins. "And once you saw them, you would have fought your way out?"

Draco shrugs non-committedly.

The silence between them is comfortable and Harry thinks Draco might even be amused. It's a far cry from his former angry silence and Harry decides he might as well go for it. He waits until Draco sends off another Patronus, this time for Ron and Savage. Once the last of the blue light has disappeared, Harry takes Draco's arm and pulls him to the side and away from Greyback's stunned body.

"Yes, Potter?" Draco asks, looking down at Harry's hand around his left forearm.

Harry drops his hand but doesn't move away. They're standing in a shadowed corner beside the large windows that look out into the front of the castle. The half-moon casts enough light that Harry can see far down the winding path. He figures it'll take Ron and Savage some time to make their way up. He tilts his head back far enough to be able to look at Draco.

"I—" Harry starts.

"You should probably stop dating so many Weasleys," Draco says.

He looks away as soon as he's said it, and Harry's left staring at Draco's left side, at the defiant set of his chin and the way he clenches his jaw. He looks like he'd rather be anywhere but here at this moment, and Harry knows these things will be a problem in the future. He knows Rita Skeeter is still an issue between them. There's a deadline between the two of them. But he looks at Draco and for the first time since Draco left, Harry finds that something inside him has settled. The constant anxious buzz under his skin is gone, and all he can think of is how much he wishes he could kiss Draco Malfoy.

Draco turns back to him when Harry doesn't say anything and their eyes meet. In between them are the weeks they've been apart. Harry moves forward, watches the way Draco sways towards him, his eyes half-closing as he looks at Harry's mouth. Harry steps forward until their chests are touching and he can feel the way Draco shivers against him, the sudden gasp as Draco tries to breathe.

Harry leans in, his face sliding against Draco's. He remembers the day in the abandoned Auror meeting room, the way Draco's hands had felt on him. He thinks about the first kiss they shared, the stumbling steps, the quick press of mouths, how Draco had gone so pliant under Harry's hands.

"I'm not dating Charlie Weasley," Harry whispers near Draco's ear.

Those were the words Draco was waiting for because he moves, gets his hands in Harry's hair and presses their mouths together. He kisses Harry slow at first, his hands on Harry's face as he guides their kiss. Then he presses his thumb against the corner of Harry's mouth and everything gets a little faster, a little harder. Harry gets his arm around the back of Draco's neck, hauls him in whenever Draco tries to pull away.

Harry spares a thought for where they are, but when he tries to pull away, Draco's hands tighten on his head and on his side. Harry leans back in, lets himself get lost in the feel of Draco Malfoy's mouth on his own, on the way it feels to have Draco's hard body against him.  
Draco pushes away first, his hands planted firmly on Harry's chest.

"Wait," he says, breathless, and Harry feels a surge of pride at knowing that he wore down that careful control.

Harry swallows and steps back, dropping his hands from Draco.

"I...no, that's," Draco says, glancing at the window behind him. "I mean, I don't want to stop, but we have to. This isn't the time."

Harry warms up at the words and he can't help moving forward to steal a quick kiss from Draco. He feels a swell of happiness when Draco kisses him back. And Harry knows that now that Draco has allowed this, there is no way he will ever stop.

"Okay," he says. "Right. We have to finish here. And then—"

"And then?" Draco asks, and the slow smile that spreads across his face is beautiful.

"Then," Harry says. "You come back to mine and we finish what we started."

*

The fallout from the raid on Nott's estate lasts well into the next morning. There is paperwork upon paperwork to fill out with regards to what spells were cast and on who. More paperwork on Dawlish and Proudfoot. Draco has his own separate stack regarding the transfigured cursed skull and the spells he used on it. They have to label everything they pick up at Nott's house, and though they end up calling in people from the Misuse of Magic Office and the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office, there's still so much paperwork to fill out, Draco considers quitting, twice, as they work.

Because there are so few witches and wizards at the Ministry overnight, Draco gets to take Longbottom's desk. Between him, Harry, and Weasley, they manage to get everything signed and sent off for Robards's approval by eight the next morning. Robards comes in just as Draco has sent off the last of his paperwork. Draco doesn't expect Robards to be there for him but Robards goes straight for the desk Draco is using and drops a file on his desk.

"That's all the new information we have on the DLF," he says. "Thought you might want it for your case."

Draco looks down at the thick file on the desk. It's at least three times as thick as the file he currently has at home. He isn't surprised that Robards has been holding out but the indignant anger he feels catches him off guard. He should know better by now than to expect things to be easy or fair.

"You had information on the DLF and didn't think you should share it with Draco?" Harry asks.

Robards shrugs. "It slipped my mind," he says.

"Lots of things slipping your mind these days, Robards," Weasley says.

Draco doesn't know who of the three of them is more surprised that Weasley came to his defence. Robards frowns but doesn't say anything else about the file.

He turns to Draco and with visible effort says, "You did some excellent work last night. Dawlish is alive because of you."

Draco takes the compliment and keeps silent. Robards sets his jaw but makes no further comments. He nods at the three of them and makes his way out of the office. Weasley waits until the door has fully closed before rounding on Draco.

"Don't think this means anything," he says. "You're on thin ice, Malfoy. But, unlike Robards, I'm not an idiot. I know better than to fight Harry about this. Just know that I'm watching you.

Draco glances at Harry who is glaring at Weasley, and Draco finds that he's more amused than indignant. "Understood, Weasley," Draco says.

Weasley nods and starts packing his things. He tosses some files onto Longbottom's desk and stuffs the rest into his drawer.

"You two better leave before the morning crew comes in," he says, looking at Harry.

"Right," Harry says.

If it were any other time, if they hadn't just spent weeks apart, Draco would care more that Weasley is so invested in what happens between Draco and Harry. As it is, Draco doesn't care beyond getting his things and taking the Floo to Potter's flat. He doesn't even care to look at the files Robards left him. All of it can wait.

"Let's go, Potter," Draco hears himself say.

Harry stands and Draco starts towards the door. He has to pass Weasley and there's a tense moment where Draco waits for Weasley to move and Weasley doesn't. They look at each other and Draco expects dislike. What he sees instead is careful consideration, as though Draco has done something unexpected. It feels too much like being seen, as though Draco has unwillingly given a part of himself away.

"Weasley," Draco says.

"Malfoy," Weasley answers.

He steps aside and Draco slips out into the Auror office floor where the rows of cubicles sit empty. To the far right are the lifts and Draco can see the numbers ticking down. He heads left, to the fireplace in the meeting room in the back. He doesn't turn to see if Potter is following him, doesn't hang back to hear the whispered conversation between Potter and Weasley. He has the fire going when Potter turns up, his bag slung over his shoulder.

Potter sees Draco standing by the fireplace and says, "You look good."

Draco watches, amused, as Potter tries valiantly to get himself together. Draco doesn't think he's ever seen Potter flustered and it strokes his vanity to know that he's the reason for it.

"I believe we have things to finish," Draco says, his smile slow to start.

He lets his eyes roam over Harry's face, over his shoulders, and down his body. Draco lets himself linger on Harry's chest, drags his eyes up Harry's face. They've been working all night so Harry has the beginnings of stubble, and Draco lets himself imagine kissing Harry the way he is right now, carrying that evidence on his face. He lets himself really imagine it until he can almost feel the scrape of Harry's stubble against his lips and his face and then, he dismisses the idea.

"You're going to need to shave," Draco says.

"Yeah," Harry says. "Whatever you want."

"Careful, Potter," Draco says. "You don't know what you're asking for."

Harry drags his eyes down Draco's body and lifts them slowly, lingering in places. He moves forward and Draco takes an involuntary step back. They're doing it again, being reckless where they shouldn't. This is what Potter does. He pushes and Draco can't help himself. Potter moves forward until he's almost, but not quite, touching Draco. Harry leans in, his mouth so close Draco could just turn his head and they'd be kissing.

"I know exactly what I'm asking for," Harry says.

With that, he grabs a handful of Floo powder from the bowl above Draco's head, and in the time it takes Draco to gather himself, Harry's gone.

*

Harry only has enough time to toss his bag and his cloak onto the leather armchair to the right of the fireplace, before the flames behind him turn green and Draco steps through.

"We should talk," Harry says, laughing at the look of disbelief on Draco's face.

"Take me to your bedroom, Potter," Draco says. "We can talk later."

Draco takes his cloak off and tosses it on the armchair with Harry's. He takes his bag and puts it on the coffee table. He's already loosening his tie and stepping further in the sitting room. Harry watches Draco work at his tie, watches as Draco tosses it onto the floor and starts on the buttons on his wrists.

"In a hurry?" Harry asks.

Draco looks over his shoulder at Harry and there's a look of consideration on his face as he looks Harry over. He seems almost bored, and something about how efficient and aloof Draco is being, is really doing it for Harry. Part of him is already ahead, imagining Draco on his bed, the way he falls apart whenever Harry gets his mouth on any part of him. The sounds Draco had made when Harry kissed him at Nott's, the way his fingers had felt digging into Harry's sides. All Harry wants to do is push Malfoy down on the nearest surface and kiss him until their lips go numb, until Harry's memorized the feel of Draco's tongue in his mouth and Draco's mouth on his.

"Bedroom's that way," Harry says, motioning to the hallway on their right.

Draco pulls his shirt out of his pants and finishes unbuttoning it. He takes it off and lets it drop as he heads for the bedroom. Harry follows, slowly. He wants to watch Draco, wants to take his time until they're both vibrating with the need to touch each other. He can imagine what it would be like to wait until he can't stand it, until it's Harry's hands that shake and not Draco's.

"Coming, Potter?" Draco calls.

Harry catches up with Draco in the bedroom. He's sitting on Harry's bed, his legs spread, belt gone and his trousers undone but on. Harry walks straight towards Draco and climbs onto his lap, Harry's legs on the bed on either side of Draco's. Draco leans back on his hands and Harry gets his fingers into Draco's hair, pulls until Draco's head goes far back enough that Harry can get his mouth on him.

The kiss is slow, just the first brush of lips against each other. It's just enough that Harry can focus on Draco beneath him, on the heat between their bodies. Then, Draco leans forward, presses harder, and Harry feels his glasses cutting into his cheeks.

"Wait," Harry says, pulling back just enough to take off his glasses.

He eyes the bedside table, decides against it, and tosses his glasses towards the pillows at the top of the bed. Draco takes the opportunity to work Harry's buttons open and push his shirt off. Then, they're kissing again, one of Draco's hands at the waistband of Harry's trousers as Harry presses closer. Harry can feel Draco shaking as he tries to hold them up with one hand, so Harry gets his knees under him, throws one hand around the back of Draco's head to keep him close, and leans forward. Draco lets himself be pushed down on the bed, both of his hands going to Harry's belt.

It gets a little faster, a little rougher, as Draco tugs Harry's belt off and works at the button on Harry's trousers. Harry pulls away to breathe and hears Draco's quiet groan as Harry kisses down his neck. He likes this, the way Draco fumbles the zipper on Harry's trousers whenever Harry bites down on the side of Draco's neck. He does it again, a little harder, and Draco's wet gasp follows his full-body shudder.

"I like that," Harry says, pressing kisses down Draco's neck. "I like how much you like this."

"So do something about it," Draco says, pushing up against Harry.

Harry moves away to work his pants off. Draco does the same next to him, and the next time they meet at the centre of the bed, Harry can feel all of Draco against him. Harry reaches blindly for the bedside table, knocking his glasses off the bed and onto the floor in his fumbling. He reaches over into the bedside drawer and pulls out the bottle of lube and a condom, tosses them onto the bed as he reaches down to pick up his glasses. He throws them onto the bedside table and turns around to find Draco watching him, legs spread wide as he waits for Harry.

It's almost too much, and Harry's hands are shaking as he moves to slide between Draco's legs and kiss him. Draco wraps his legs around the back of Harry's calves, pulls him down with the hands on Harry's sides. Harry presses down and they both groan as Draco tightens his hold on Harry. Harry does it again and this time, Draco breaks the kiss to throw his head back against the bed. He lets out a long drawn out, " _fuck_ ," before shoving Harry off him.

"Come on," Draco says, reaching out for the bottle of lube beside them.

Harry pulls back, puts one hand on Draco's chest and presses down until Draco goes still. "It's all right," Harry says, leaning forward to press a kiss to Draco's mouth. "I have you."

Draco closes his eyes and goes absolutely still, but Harry can see the way Draco's hands are shaking at his sides. He's almost vibrating with the effort to keep from moving, as though it's costing him everything to do what Harry says. Harry slows down further, presses soft kisses to the side of Draco's face, down his chest, feather-light touches down his hip bone.

"Not yet," Harry says, as Draco tenses. "Later."

Harry keeps going, pressing kisses down Draco's thighs, to the sides of his knees. He lifts Draco's legs, pushes them apart, and groans as Draco goes pliant beneath him.

"You're so good at this," Harry says.

His hands are shaking as he coats his fingers. He watches Draco's face, the way his mouth drops open and his head goes back as Harry presses his middle finger in, slowly. Harry slides his other hand down Draco's thigh, watches Draco as he shakes on the bed. Harry pulls back, just enough to add a second finger, stretching carefully, watching how Draco responds to every press of Harry's fingers.

He takes his time and everything around them slows until the initial desperation is gone. It's replaced by a sense of calm, punctuated by Draco's quiet groans as Harry works him open. Harry adds a third finger, presses the side of his face to Draco's thigh as he watches himself work Draco open. He can feel his own heart beating hard against his chest, and when Harry looks at Draco, he finds Draco watching him.

"I'm ready," Draco whispers. "Want you."

It's as though they're sharing secrets in the heat that has taken up space between them. Everything feels massive all of a sudden, from the air they're breathing, to the soft sounds they're making as Harry pulls his fingers out. Draco shifts on the bed, lets his legs fall open as Harry rolls the condom on.

Harry drops down on one elbow, reaches down to guide himself into Draco, slowly, so slowly, Draco digging his fingers into the sheets beneath him. He tenses and Harry watches the way Draco arches off the bed as he reaches for Harry. But this is different than their usual quiet fucks. No one is going to walk in on them and they have all the time in the world to feel this. Harry slows down further, waits as Draco realises what's happening.

"I have you," Harry repeats. "It's all right."

For a moment it looks as though Draco's going to argue, but he inhales and on the exhale, his body sinks back onto the mattress. Harry murmurs a soft, "yes," and pushes in, until he's fully inside Draco, until he can feel Draco shaking beneath him as he reaches up to get his hands and legs around Harry.

Everything is so hot. Harry shifts against Draco, hears the soft sigh in his ear as Draco wraps a hand around himself. He brings his other hand up into Harry's hair. He pulls and their mouths meet in a hard kiss. Then, Draco shifts beneath Harry, tilts his hips and the angle changes. The next time Harry pulls back, Draco groans, long and loud by Harry's ear.

"That's good," Harry says against the side of Draco's face. "You're so good."

Draco makes a soft sound at the back of his throat and Harry pushes back in just a little harder. He does it again and watches Draco throw his head back. Harry keeps going, listens to Draco's cut off sounds, feels the way he tenses in Harry's arms. He listens to the soft yeses, and the mores, until Draco's fingers dig in hard against Harry's back and his breath comes out in short pants.

"Don't stop," he says into Harry's ear.

Harry keeps going even as Draco bites down on Harry's shoulder. Draco's hand speeds up between them, and holds on tighter, his legs tightening reflexively around Harry.

"Fuck," Draco says over and over as he comes apart in Harry's arms.

Harry stills, but Draco grabs at him, pulls him down and says, "Don't stop."

Harry groans as he starts moving again. He buries his face in Draco's neck and loses himself in the quiet encouragement from Draco, the soft, "that's it, let go, I have you." Until all he can feel is white, hot heat along his spine and Draco's mouth against his.

Harry pulls out carefully and rolls over. He takes a moment to catch his breath and Draco takes the opportunity to roll off the bed. Harry feels the first pang of disappointment and it's there again, at the tip of his tongue. The bitten off, "stay."

It'll do him no good to get attached in the long run. But he watches Draco, and instead of picking up his clothes, Draco heads for the bathroom. He gets to the door, looks back at Harry, and nods to the bathroom in silent invitation.

It's fully bright outside, now, and the light from the morning sun seeps in despite Harry's curtains. He looks at Draco Malfoy, naked and at ease in Harry's bedroom, and it's just a little harder to breathe, just a little harder to swallow past the knot at Harry's throat. He wants to say something to ease the sudden tightness in the centre of his chest, anything to erase this awful yearning. He wants Draco, and it's ridiculous that this is what he feels when he's just had Draco beneath him. But it's there, a sudden wave of desire, a need to be as close to Draco as he can.

Draco's watching him from the bathroom door, and the only thing Harry knows at this moment is that, to say what he feels aloud would be to lose this quiet peace between them. He says nothing. Instead, he gets up, goes to Draco, pushes him against the bathroom door frame, and kisses him until the pain in Harry's chest eases just a little.

*

Draco stays for breakfast because, after their shower, Harry goes straight to the kitchen, saying he doesn't need to sleep yet. Draco changes in the bedroom, puts on his trousers and shirt but forgoes the belt. When he walks into the kitchen, Harry's putting something away in the cupboard above the sink. Draco doesn't mention it, but takes the seat at the kitchen table when Harry motions to it.

It's eerily domestic, sitting around Harry's cream-coloured kitchen, with its dark appliances and white cupboards. But Draco's just had really good sex. He's less inclined to care about the finer details of his and Potter's arrangement, after a night of little sleep and a morning of enthusiastic fucking. Draco sits and watches Harry move about the kitchen, pulling things from the refrigerator and lighting the stove with his wand. They're having a fry up and Draco watches the pile of ingredients grow as Harry cooks each part.

"Where did you learn to cook?" Draco asks.

He has never thought of Potter outside of school, or the Ministry, now that they technically work together. Draco knows Harry lived with Muggles and that before Hogwarts, he wouldn't have known about cooking spells. He figures Harry learned to cook from whomever he lived with before he went to Hogwarts. But Draco doesn't know and it bothers him that he doesn't know.

"My aunt taught me," Harry says, carefully. "It's loads easier now with the spells. But back then, I had to learn how to do it the Muggle way. I got good at it real fast, had to, otherwise Aunt Petunia got mad."

"But you were a child," Draco says without thinking. "How could she have expected you to know how to cook?"

The sausages in the pan sizzle as Harry goes still. He's looking at the wall above the stove, lost in thoughts Draco isn't privy to. The moment drags and takes on a different weight. Draco can feel the shift when Harry turns to look at him.

"Sometimes, a lot is asked of us when we're not ready," Harry says, carefully. "And we either deal with it or we don't."

Draco thinks of the Infirmary at Hogwarts, about how angry he had been at Potter for existing in a way that was inconvenient for Draco. He thinks of the scars leftover by Dark Lord's mark, of Severus Snape telling Draco to survive. He thinks of his father, cold grey eyes boring into Draco, telling him to stop crying. Draco remembers his mother's loving reminders of duty to one's family. He remembers Dumbledore atop the Astronomy Tower, hoping that Draco would find Harry Potter and learn something from him. He thinks of Blaise, of how soft he can be when he wants to, of how he had asked just once, and never again, for Draco to give him just a little bit more.

Draco looks at Harry and it's their sixth year all over again and that one, perfect moment of complete understanding.


	11. Familia Ante Omnia

Draco leaves Harry Potter's flat at half-past eleven, intending to get to his bedroom and sleep well into the afternoon. He manages to get past the entrance hall and past the sitting room before his father's cool voice calls his name.

Lucius Malfoy stands at the top of the grand staircase, wearing his black travelling cloak with silver trimmings. His hair is combed away from his face, the loose strands clean and shining as they haven't been since Draco was in his fourth year at Hogwarts. He's carrying his walking stick again, the silver snake head shining under the hanging lights above the staircase. If it weren't for the wrinkles on his father's face, Draco would think he were a boy again, looking up at his father in awe. A boy who trusted his father, a thing more valuable than love, but more easily broken.

"Good morning, Draco," Lucius says, beginning his descent.

He says no more, but Draco hears the admonition underneath, the silent question regarding why Draco was not home. These silent glances are familiar, and Draco finds that he wishes that his father and he were the kinds of people who could tell each other what they felt. That there was a way for Draco to say that although he thought this was what he was missing since the war ended, it's not what he truly wants. He doesn't need a father who will bend Draco to his will, who will stand atop staircases and look down on what he has.

It's the right time, the moment for Draco to say his piece and let the truth out into the open. That they have all strayed further than they thought they would, that perhaps, in this distance, they're no longer the people they each thought the other to be.

"Father," Draco starts.

He doesn't know how he'll say it, whether Lucius will understand the significance of Draco's words. But Draco knows he can't keep silent, that to do so threatens the faint glimpses of freedom he has seen in between Harry Potter's bedsheets. It terrifies him, a fear so deeply ingrained in his bones that if Draco dwells too much on it, he'll be unable to move, to breathe, to exist. He doesn't think too hard usually, doesn't like to go back to past moments if he can help it. It's always been better to focus on what is happening now.

"Draco," Lucius says. "I believe you have made a gamble that has not paid off."

"How so?" Draco asks.

Lucius makes it to the last step but he doesn't come down. He's taller than Draco like this. This close Draco can see the faint tremor in his father's hand, the Prophet in his hand shaking slightly as Lucius holds it out. Draco takes the paper. The front page is a picture of Fenrir Greyback being escorted from the Ministry of Magic, Robards on his left and Savage on his right. Beneath that picture, is a picture of Harry Potter and Ron Weasley. They're headshots, taken from the staff files at the Ministry. There's even a picture of Dawlish on the top right, a single line about his stay at St. Mungo's Hospital.

Draco scans the front page and reads the article. There's a rundown of what happened at Nott's estate, a brief mention of Nott in Azkaban. He's been given a lighter sentence than Fenrir Greyback and Draco finds that he's glad to hear it. The Prophet mentions the cursed skull, the quick action of the Ministry's new Curse-Breaker, no mention of Draco. There's a whole page dedicated to Potter and Weasley. Some details are exaggerated and most of what Draco did has been attributed to Potter's quick thinking. Draco closes the paper, folds it back into a neat square, and looks at his father.

"I assume this is where you were last night," Lucius says. "And yet, there is no mention of you."

"You know why, Father," Draco says.

"Is this what you think the Malfoy name owes the wizarding world?" Lucius asks, his grey eyes hard as they look Draco over. "You owe them your allegiance and your time and they can do with you as they please?"

Draco looks at his father, allows the hard stare and the judgment. It would be so easy to throw back the words at his father, to remind him who was the person who offered their allegiance to the wrong master first.

"We are worth more than that," Lucius says and he sounds tired and old.

Draco remembers his father cowering on the floor as the Dark Lord tortured him for failing, again and again, to do what was asked of him. He sees his mother, and himself, the scars he carries on the top of his arms, on his back. They have been branded for trusting the wrong person, for believing that their family name belonged in the hands of a lunatic. Draco is not his father. He must make better decisions.

But he understands the concerns, despite himself. He knows Robards would have him sacked if Draco so much as breathed the wrong way. He knows Kingsley's word is the only thing allowing Draco to stay. At the end of the day, the wizarding world wants Draco's allegiance no more than the Dark Lord needed it. Despite the promises made to him, Draco knows that his father is right. They're worth more than that. His mother is worth more than what Draco can give her by begging at the feet of the Aurors.

Still, he can't bring himself to accept that his father's way is the best. He can't imagine his marriage to another pureblood family will change much. But then he thinks of Blaise and Pansy, and how easy it had been to talk to them, how they had understood what the empty spaces around Draco's words meant. To be surrounded by that, away from whatever the wizarding world wants, in some house in the countryside, sounds safe.

It must all come down to what Draco wants more, whether his desire to belong somewhere is stronger than his desire to try and make up for the things of his past. He thinks of how exhausting it has been to be handed only half-truths from Robards, to be judged there and here, in his home. Everywhere he turns, someone wants something from him, wants him to be someone, and Draco can't decide which version is most like him. He doesn't know where he'll fit the best.

"Draco, listen to me," Lucius says. "Things have gotten out of hand. It's understandable. You are an inexperienced boy. But you must know that our name is the only thing we have left. It must mean something when everything is said and done."

In the end, it's as simple as Draco has known nothing but his family for so long, it's impossible to imagine who he would be without them. He owes them, owes his mother for the things she has done to save him. Even his father, proud and angry, deserves Draco's loyalty. It is, after all, Draco's fault they all ended up where they did. If he had killed Dumbledore and if he had listened to Snape earlier, if he had thought it through, if he hadn't been an idiot, if they had just run, none of this would have happened.

"I understand, Father," Draco says.

Lucius puts a hand on Draco's shoulder. "I knew you would, Draco," he says. "You have never let me down."

*

"How do you know you're in love?" Harry asks the tombstone at his feet.

It sits unmoved, white marble etched with black words: _Lily and James Potter_. There are more flowers this year than there were last, wreaths of roses and evergreens. Someone has planted lilies at the base of the headstone, their white petals curled in against the cold. They won't last in the chill, but Harry casts a heating charm around them, hoping they last long enough to take root so that they might grow in the spring. His bouquet of lilies lies at the centre of the other floral arrangements, small and insignificant compared to what's been laid down already.

There are no Aurors with him this year, not now that nothing has happened in so long. Ron and Hermione stand a few rows away. When Harry left them, they had been huddling together for warmth.

The fall night is dark without a moon and the chill from the afternoon rain is still enough to send goosebumps up Harry's arms. The action from last year would be a welcomed distraction now. He aches again, deep in his chest, a sudden desire to scream into the night and toss all the flowers away. He imagines himself burning them until there is nothing left but the smooth, white marble.

He doesn't know who he is on October 31st and the days before it. It's like he becomes a mass of bleeding cells. He has seen his mother, has seen her beautiful green eyes and the unshed tears in them. He has heard her voice, speaking to him, telling him she loved him. She existed, if only for a brief moment, her red hair as real as Ron's, as Ginny's. This journey every year to her tomb is an insult compared to that. She doesn't exist here in between the flowers. No matter how hard Harry tries for the rest of his life, he'll never know her as he did before he walked into the Forbidden Forest.

He wants to be anywhere but in this little graveyard in Godric's Hollow. He wants to forget that he comes every year to mourn a man and a woman he'll never know. It might have been better if he had never seen them, never heard James Potter and Lily Evans, because now that he's starting to forget what they looked like, it hurts much worse. This is his doing now, not the unreliable memories of a one-year-old child. This is Harry himself forgetting what his mother's voice sounded like. Just him and the unrelenting passage of time.

He hates it here.

He hates the ordered tombstones, the neat and tidy arrangement of death and decay. He hates how his parents are numbers on a registry, coordinates to be looked up by anyone who wants to visit them. Even here in Godric's Hollow, Harry's parents aren't his own. His life belongs to the rest of the world, to the press and Kingsley, to the Aurors. He just follows along, the way he has always done because to not do so would be worse. To stand still and wait as the world crashes over him would be his undoing. He has to move, has to throw himself over and over into the line of fire, for Ron, for Hermione, for Ginny, the Weasleys. He doesn't know another way to be, knows that to stop would be to invite thoughts he doesn't want to have. Dark, ugly monsters that lurk in the back of his brain and wait for the day he lets his guard down.

"I have to go," Harry tells the tombstone. "See you next year."

He turns and heads back the way he came, and as he steps further and further from his parents' graves, the tightness in his chest eases just enough to let him breathe. He makes it to Ron and Hermione and Ron steps forward, his hands reaching for Harry's shoulders.

"Everything all right?" Ron asks, giving Harry a small shake.

Harry closes his eyes and he could be back at the Burrow, at his birthday tea, at the office, at Grimmauld Place, anywhere where Ron has seen him losing it and come forward. He grounds Harry, the movement, his hands, the certainty that Ron will be here at the end of everything. That he's real and alive and Harry can count on him and Hermione. That they will fight for each other until there is nothing left in them, in whatever way they can, to keep each other close for as long as they can.

This is what it means to love, he realises.

"Let's go home," Harry says when he opens his eyes.

Hermione steps forward, tears in her eyes. She takes his arm and Ron's, and as she starts to turn on the spot, Harry realises he's crying too.

-

Hermione waves her wand as soon as she steps through Harry's front door and the light in the hallway turns on. She waves her wand again as she walks into the sitting room. When Harry and Ron catch up to her, she has the kettle on and a fire roaring in the fireplace in Harry's sitting room. Harry looks at her, moving about his kitchen, digging through his cupboards, pushing aside his medicine bottles.

She pulls out teas and stacks them on the kitchen table, pulls out the sugar and the milk, rearranges it all, nicely. She pulls out two mugs, sets them down across from each other and then walks out to where Harry and Ron are waiting for her.

"There's three of us, Hermione," Ron says.

"I know," she says, turning to Harry. "But Harry doesn't want us here right now, do you Harry?"

Harry opens his mouth to protest, but Hermione cuts him off.

"Who are you thinking of calling right now?" Hermione asks. "Say a name, don't stop to think."

 _Draco_ , Harry thinks, and the knowledge is a revelation to himself. He wants to talk to Draco because there are things Harry can't say to Ron or Hermione. There are things that make him feel guilty, things that he knows Draco would understand without Harry having to explain himself. Harry just wants a night where he can be himself, all of his polite edges thrown away so that he can just be. He wants to drink tea with Draco and hear Draco complain about the change in weather, or the way the lube stains the bedsheets.

Harry looks at Hermione. She smiles almost sadly and says, "I thought so."

Ron heaves a great sigh and when Harry looks at him, he shrugs. "I'm not even surprised this is who you've picked," he says. "But you tell Malfoy I'm still watching him."

Harry wants to say that he hasn't made a choice yet, that it's impossible to do so when Draco is still hiding. But Harry can't lie to them. He wants to spend the night with Draco, in whatever form that takes, because here, at his lowest, he thinks he can find some comfort with Draco Malfoy. He thinks back to their sixth year, to Dumbledore in the Astronomy Tower and the way Dumbledore had looked when he'd said that he'd always hoped Draco and Harry would find each other.

"How do I know if he feels the same way?" Harry asks them.

"Oh, Harry," Hermione says, moving to hug him. "You can always ask him."

"Or, you know," Ron says. "Just kind of muck about until there's another war and one of you jumps the other in the middle of a battle."

"One of you," Hermione says, rolling her eyes.

They bicker as they head to the door, a comfortable thing that Harry recognizes as their way of existing as a couple. At his door, Hermione turns to Harry.

"Call us if you need us," she says.

Ron waves and together, he and Hermione head out into the chilly October night. Harry watches them go until they disappear into the side street and then, he turns back to his empty flat.

*

Draco is almost asleep when bright, blue light fills his room. He sees the antlers first before the stag rears its massive head. In Harry Potter's voice, it says, "Come to mine."

The stag steps back and almost as though it's lying down to rest, it sinks into Draco's floor and disappears. Draco stares at the floor of his bedroom, feeling the loss of heat now that the stag is gone. He wonders how it's possible that he has gone so long without giving himself away to his parents. He's not careful and in the silence of his room hangs the spectre of Rita Skeeter, the deadline in the distance.

He should stay under the lilac sheets now that he has agreed to talk to the Greengrasses and to host the ridiculous Christmas ball that his mother insists on throwing. He lies on his bed and hears Harry's voice, the quiet plea in the middle of the night. The last time this had happened, it had also been October and Weasley had caught them in Grimmauld Place.

Draco wonders what it is about the end of October that bothers Potter so much. And just as he's finishing the thought, he remembers what this day means. It had been October 31st when the Dark Lord had gone to Godric's Hollow to kill Harry's parents.

This changes things and Draco is up before he fully decides that he's going. He considers changing, but the effort it would take to do that in the middle of the night is not worth it. Instead, he pulls a travelling cloak over his bedclothes and heads for the grand staircase.

The Manor is quiet and only the shadows cast by the full moon keep Draco company as he heads past the closed doors. He makes his way downstairs, eyes out for his father on a late-night stroll. He sees no one as he heads out into the Manor driveway and out past the wrought iron gate. Once he's far away enough, he casts a Disillusionment Charm and Dispparates.

Harry's street is empty but Draco checks twice before he crosses the street to Harry's flat. He rings the doorbell, feels a wave of heat as the defensive spells on the door wash over Draco. He can feel his Disillusionment Charm washing away and he throws a quick look over his shoulder. The street remains quiet and deserted.

It seems to take forever before Potter comes to the door. He opens it and the surprise on his face makes Draco think he's made a mistake.

"Draco," Harry says. "I didn't think you would come."

They're on even footing again and Draco steps inside, past Harry, into the warm hallway.

"I'm here," he says.

Harry's still looking at him with the same measured intensity, as though he's looking for answers on Draco's face.

"What is it?" Draco asks, uncomfortable at the scrutiny.

"Can I take your cloak?" Harry asks.

Draco looks at him, at the bags under his eyes and the work clothes he's still wearing. Draco hesitates a moment, but he's here, and there's nothing left for him to do. He takes off his cloak and hands it to Harry.

"I didn't have time to change," Draco says.

Harry looks at him, a small smile on his face. He says nothing, but after he hangs the cloak on the hook by the door, he steps forward and gives Draco a quick kiss.

"Thank you for coming," Harry says. "Do you want tea?"

Draco nods and together they head in silence to Harry's kitchen. There's a fire dying in the sitting room fireplace and Draco waves his wand to put it out. In the kitchen, Harry has already laid out all the necessities for tea. Draco takes a seat at the table and raises an eyebrow at Harry when he sees the many boxes on the table.

"Hermione left those there," Harry explains. "She didn't know what kind of tea you drank."

Draco can feel Harry's eyes on him. Granger knows and though Draco suspected she might, it still feels like another piece of him has been given away without his permission. There are too many people who know, too many variables that he can't control. But Harry's watching him and Draco can tell when he's being tested.

"You know what kind of tea I drink," Draco says because he has never failed a test when it mattered. "Why did Granger leave?"

Harry is quiet for a long moment. He pours the hot water, hands Draco a mug, and has added sugar and milk to his tea before he sits. Draco watches the slow methodical turns of Harry's spoon, the clinking of metal against ceramic. Draco takes a sip of his tea intending to wait out the silence. Potter will speak when he's ready.

"I went to visit my parents' graves today," Harry says, looking at Draco over the rim of his cup.

Their eyes meet, but Draco can tell that Harry's thinking of something else.

"I went and I saw all these flowers there from people who don't even know them, people who just know me. I almost lost it," he says. "I have a very short temper when it comes to some things. And I think it was just too much at once. I mean, I go every year because I can, but it doesn't mean anything. They're still dead and I won't ever know them."

He stops and Draco waits, knowing that the silence is needed. Harry puts his cup down, pulls his glasses off, and rubs at the bridge of his nose.

"It's just, for the first time today, I thought that maybe I don't want to go back. That there was no point in dropping flowers off once a year when I don't even know if they care I'm doing it," Harry says. "At the Battle of Hogwarts, right before I went into the Forbidden Forest to give myself up to Voldemort, I spoke to them and I never got to ask them anything of value. And it's not that I want them back like that. I know it's not right. But I just feel like I had a chance and I did nothing with it."

Harry exhales and when Draco sees that Harry's done talking, he reaches over to knock Harry's hand away from his face.

"That's enough," Draco says. "You know better than that, Potter. And if going in October bothers you, then go any other month. I'm sure no one is dropping off gifts in the middle of January."

"I never thought about not going in October," Harry says.

"Well, of course, you didn't," Draco says, standing. "You didn't have me around to suggest it."

"Are you leaving?" Harry asks.

If Draco's intention had been to leave so soon, he would have never come in the first place. He knows himself. He knows that once he's in Harry Potter's home, it becomes that much harder to remember why he shouldn't be here.

"I'm not going anywhere," Draco says, extending a hand for Harry to take. "I'm tired and it's the middle of the night. We should sleep."

Harry takes Draco's hand and Draco pulls him up. This time it's Draco who moves forward until they're nose to nose, until he can lean the rest of the way and kiss Harry Potter. They go slow, just enough for comfort. Draco is tired and he feels himself yawning halfway through a kiss.

"Go to bed," Harry says, pulling away and smiling. "I'll be right in. Just need to put the milk away."

He presses another quick kiss to Draco's mouth and turns away. Draco watches him moving about the kitchen and the warm sense of belonging catches him off guard. It's as though it has always been this way, always Potter in the kitchen and Draco in the sitting room on his way to the bedroom. He turns away before he can say something he will not be able to take back.

It doesn't take long for Harry to come to the bedroom. Draco has just made himself comfortable, covers pulled up over half of his face as he lies on his side. Harry changes, tosses his clothes onto the floor, and if Draco could be anyone else, he would have made a comment about Potter picking up after himself. But he's Draco Malfoy and he just tries to doze off as Harry gets ready for bed.

When Harry finally slips into the sheets, Draco is already half-asleep. He feels Harry close behind him, the way Harry's arm comes around Draco's side, how they slot together chest to back. Harry's inhale tickles the back of Draco's neck, but Draco is warm and it's so much easier to fall asleep than it is to overthink.

*

November passes and Draco doesn't let himself fall asleep on Harry Potter's bed again. It helps Draco keep his illusion of distance, lets him say yes when Harry invites him over, sometimes just to talk. They're going to exhaust all possible subjects at the rate they're going, between what Quidditch teams they support and what colour makes for better curtains. They go through the books Draco liked the most at school, and he finds out that Potter has partially memorized the Defense Against the Dark Arts books. He learns that Potter likes good Quidditch players and they argue over which team is the best and who from Hogwarts should have made a national Quidditch team.

It passes the time and Draco allows himself these pockets of something he could almost call happiness, in between the preparations for the Christmas Ball. His mother has roped him into sending out the invitations and picking out the colours for the decorations. When Draco isn't doing that, he does his best to throw himself into the cold cases he still has with him. He goes over the DLF case, the list of suspects that was missing before. Anything to fill the time in between so that he stops thinking so much about the Greengrasses and what his parents want from him.

He goes over the new files Robards had handed him after they'd caught Greyback. They're evidence to suggest that Albert Runcorn is the DLF leader. Runcorn is an ex-Ministry employee who Harry impersonated during the break-in at the Ministry, during what would have been Potter's last school year. Runcorn had gone missing at the end of the war and as he had no family, the Ministry doesn't have any leads on his whereabouts. He had been accused of torturing and ordering the execution of at least six Muggle-borns through the Dementor's kiss. Runcorn fits, but so do the other six names on the list, all former Death Eaters who either knew of Harry or could have gotten information about Harry.

Draco has nothing concrete to go on, but he continues his meetings with Robards every week to update him on things. The less Draco has each meeting, the more annoyed Robards gets, and Draco can feel the end like a sticky, tangible thing. Some days when he's frustrated, he thinks if it wouldn't be better to just take the job permanently at Gringotts, to not have to hide the things he does.

Then he'll think of Nott's estate and capturing Greyback. He'll remember the feeling of accomplishment, the way things had fallen into place when he and Potter had gone in together, as partners. He'll think that maybe it's worth it, to try and stay where he can be most useful. Gringotts and Curse-Breaking don't compare to protecting the wizarding world. Even when Lucius makes comments at breakfast about what Draco should and shouldn't do.

The planning for the Christmas Ball keeps going and Lucius puts out an announcement on the Prophet's social pages. It lists the Malfoy Christmas party as a semi-open event, RSVP required a week in advance. It directs them to Narcissa who gets only two owls in the first week the announcement goes up.

"Don't worry, Draco," his mother says. "Your father still has enough friends for this to be a successful event."

Draco doubts it, but he says nothing as the preparations move forward. He doesn't think they will need all four chocolate fountains or all the waiters that start arriving on Christmas Eve. The way to the ballroom is lined with icicles that shine in vibrant blues and silver, the doorways with twisting vines of vibrant green and mistletoe at the top. Narcissa has hired a string quartet and the music echoes through the Manor as they practice for the evening. Their ceiling lets down flurries that melt before they hit the ground.

The Manor outside looks beautiful, its front shining with cascading crystals full of light. The hedges along the walkway are decorated with more crystals, angels in shifting gold and silver and sprigs of mistletoe. It's as festive as Draco has seen the Manor in a long time. The sheer exuberance of the waitstaff alone is enough to make Draco wish he had managed to squeeze time, in between the Prophet announcement and today, to see Harry. He misses the calmness of their interactions, the way he finds that he can almost breathe better behind Potter's closed doors.

But they're at Malfoy Manor now and as six o'clock nears, Draco finds himself cornered by his mother. She's wearing beautiful robes of flowing green material that matches with Lucius's own deep green dress robes. Draco has his own set of lighter green robes that someone laid out on his bed earlier that day. He has not decided whether he's going to go in the green robes and he's put off changing until the last possible second.

"Draco," his mother says. "I wanted to talk to you before the guests started arriving."

"Of course, Mother," Draco says.

He doesn't question her much these days, even less so since he has agreed to meet the Greengrasses. It's as though now that Draco has allowed room for this, he can't find it in himself to fight back. He's tired, truth be told, of Robards's constant underhanded comments, how now that Kingsley's removed himself from the equations, things are going nowhere. Draco understands what it is to have people against him, but he hadn't known how much better it was when people were on his side, like Kinglsey has been.

He could go and make a fuss, but even that doesn't sit well. He's not a charity case, no matter how far his family has fallen. But he's tired of fighting Robards and he can't bring himself to fight his parents too. It's better to go along with this, to let his life be guided in the way that it would have been anyway had the war never happened. He's tired of convincing everyone in the world that he's someone different, tired of the expectations and the fear, the constant awareness of his father and what he might do.

Draco sighs as his mother comes into his room and smooths out his dress robes. She sits at the edge of his bed and Draco suddenly remembers that this isn't his home. That this room isn't even really his space. Whatever he has in this home belongs to his parents first and to him second.

He's tired in a new way, bone-deep exhaustion, from trying to merge two halves of himself that don't want to fit. He wishes he had invited Potter to this mess, so that Draco could have someone to be angry with when they made fun of how few people had shown up. Potter who would take it in stride and push until the night was over and Draco could get him somewhere quiet and secluded.

But Draco knows that to even want that is to risk more than he can. He's to dress in his green robes to remind everyone that he's a Slytherin, that he will be one until the day his parents die. Though Draco doesn't mind his school colours, it's after the war and his favourite colour has always been blue.

"You should know," Narcissa says, and Draco has to turn to her. "That your father intends to introduce you to Daphne Greengrass."

His mother's blue eyes are hard when Draco looks at her, unforgiving in their scrutiny. She knows something she's not telling and Draco is too tired to play her games. She must see it on his face because her gaze softens. She pats the space next to her on the bed, inviting in a way that she hasn't been for a long time. What is Draco to do, but sit next to her, allow her to hold him and kiss the top of his head?

"I feel that perhaps we have been neglecting you," she says.

"Of course not, Mother," Draco says.

Narcissa takes his hands and her concern is more than Draco knows what to do with. He doesn't know how to handle her like this, when all of herself is focused just on him. It's as overwhelming as it was the morning after the Battle of Hogwarts.

"I know things are different," she says, stroking his hair. "I understand the war changed things for you, far more than it changed things for your Father. More than it has changed things for me, perhaps. I see you. I know your father wants you to court Daphne. She's a good girl, but I think," here Narcissa pauses as she stares into the distance.

Draco doesn't know what she's seeing, but he can tell from the rigid set of her shoulders that she's about to do something she doesn't like.

"I think perhaps tonight when you meet the Greengrasses, it might be better if you talk with their youngest daughter," Narcissa says. "She's two years younger than you, but I think you'll find you have a lot in common with her. I think she might be a better match than her sister."

Narcissa says nothing more as she stands. She picks up Draco's dress robes and runs her fingers through the folds. Draco sees her eyes dart to his bedsheets.

"You know," she says, tucking Draco's green dress robes under her arm. "I feel like we need to send these back. I don't particularly like this colour on you. Maybe you should try the midnight blue ones we bought this past summer. Not as festive but certainly flattering."

With that, she walks out of the room and Draco is left sitting on his bed. For some reason he can't understand, he feels as though he has been given an out.

-

The evening starts out busier than Draco expected. Pansy and Blaise and their respective families are the first to arrive. They're followed by various acquaintances that Draco knows from childhood get-togethers. Most of them are purebloods, though only a few of the group that comes with Blaise were in Slytherin. Sometime after, Cormac McLaggen, with his artfully dishevelled blond hair and his general air of aggressive attractiveness, makes his way into the entrance hall. He sees Draco and his eyes immediately slide to the side, and it's all so obvious and clichéd.

"McLaggen," Draco says. "Guests are in the ballroom, past the sitting room."

McLaggen winks and heads in the general direction Draco pointed. The whole interaction amuses Draco and he leans over to watch McLaggen's casual strut, the confidence in his movements, all his unrestrained Gryffindor pride. He's magnificent to look at, blond curls and deep red dress robes, square jaw and a great nose. Draco would almost feel sorry for Blaise if he didn't know McLaggen is not the one in charge of what's happening between them.

He's still laughing to himself when the Manor doors open again and the cold air that blows in knocks the laughter out of Draco. He looks around quickly but there is no one in the room with him, no witnesses to his lack of composure. He knows better than to let himself slip. He has practised this, the careful side views, the casual turn of his head, never straying too long. He needs to be ever so careful not to get caught here.

He turns back to his guest and he knows Daphne Greengrass immediately. She's lovely in lilac dress robes, delicate and dainty, she stands beside her mother and father. On her mother's left is who Draco knows must be Astoria. She's a stark contrast to her sister. Where Daphne is short, blonde, and blue-eyed, Astoria is statuesque, with cascading waves of dark brown hair and dark eyes. Her robes are midnight blue and Draco finally understands his mother's change of heart.

"Good evening," Draco says.

Astoria and Daphne smile at him and it takes everything in Draco not to turn and disappear into the crowd in the ballroom. It's real, all of a sudden. Before him stand the Greengrass daughters after weeks of his father mediating things without Draco. He let it go on too long. He should have stopped it sooner, should have supervised the visits.

"Will you walk me in?" Astoria says, stepping forward.

Draco glances at Mr and Mrs Greengrass, at Daphne's cool expression. Astoria doesn't seem to be paying attention to what her parents or her sister are doing. She steps forward, all-natural charm, as she hooks her arm with Draco's. Draco breathes in carefully and does his best to smile politely.

They head to the ballroom, Astoria chattering about the decorations, wanting to know who cast the spells, who came up with the theme. She's friendly and kind and Draco finds that it isn't all that hard to answer her questions. She's relentlessly eager to learn about him, and she pursues topics of conversations as though she's trying to learn everything about Draco in the time it takes him to cross the ballroom with her.

When they make it to the other side for drinks, Astoria's parents and Daphne have found their table. They sit among Draco's mother and father. Draco watches as his mother leans in to talk to Mrs Greengrass and Daphne. His father is mid-conversation with Mr Greengrass, and Draco knows what's coming when his father glances to the side and sees Daphne at the table. His eyes start scanning the crowd and Draco knows it's a matter of time before his father looks over and sees Draco and Astoria.

A part of Draco is almost viciously glad that he's doing something his father might not want. As though this facade of control makes a difference to what Draco must do.

"You should pretend I've said something vastly amusing," Astoria's soft voice says from Draco's side. 

Draco turns to look at her and is met with too knowing eyes and a sympathetic smile.

"I know what it's like to have parents who think they're doing the best for you, even though they're really not," she says, leaning in close to Draco as though they're sharing a secret. "My mother and father want me married before it's too late. They've been hoping that even though your father keeps hinting that you and Daphne would make a great couple, that I might show up today and change your mind. I've been told I am to be my most charming and delightful. Am I succeeding or should I try harder?"

Draco stares and Astoria looks back at him. She doesn't need to say anything else. Draco recognizes the look in her eyes, the quiet desperation to be anywhere else, to be doing anything else, with anyone else.

"If it helps," she says. "I don't believe that rubbish about purebloods being better than Muggle-borns. And from what I've heard from your father, it doesn't sound like you do either."

"I don't," Draco says. "Not anymore."

Astoria takes a sip of her drink. She watches Draco from over the rim of her cup, her eyes boring into Draco as though she can pull the secrets from him. She's sizing him up, Draco realises.

"We should be honest with each other," she says. "I understand that what we're doing is nothing more than children fulfilling their duties to their parents. I know you don't want to marry me and I know I don't want to marry you. Yet, somehow, here we are, both of us trying to do it anyway."

Her frankness is a relief. Draco had been afraid that he was going to have to pretend for the rest of his life, that he would have to juggle his wife and her feelings with everything else. But he finds that Astoria is better than he expected, better perhaps, than he deserves. She's understanding and intelligent, and as they talk about families and expectations, Draco feels that same underlying thrum of crystal clear understanding.

It's nothing like the confusion and the terror he feels whenever he lets himself think about Harry Potter and the things Draco knows exist underneath his forced distance. Astoria is the child of parents like Draco's, a person born knowing what was expected of her and willing to fulfil those expectations. She's who Draco is but without the self-imposed burdens. The more Draco talks to her, the more he wonders whether it isn't possible to do what he must and still be happy with himself at the end of the day.

"You should know," she says, towards the end of the hour they've been talking, "That I am going to make a terrible wife."

"Oh?" Draco asks.

She smiles at him, something sweet and sad. Draco watches her, the sudden weight to her shoulders. He's watching her so he notices the way her eyes wander across the room, how they catch on the curve of Pansy's cheek, on the waist of the woman talking to Blaise. He expects fear when she turns back and finds Draco watching her, but all he sees on her face is a terrible resignation. It catches on her face, on the corners of her eyes. She looks different in an almost imperceptible way as though she's carrying more than she can hold, as though if she doesn't put down the weight, it'll overwhelm her.

Draco recognizes her expression, the bone-deep rejection of one's personal desires and in a moment of perfect clarity, Draco realises that he's not happy. That he has not been happy for a very long time. As he and Astoria stand together by the crudités, he realises that he has perhaps found the one person in the world who can really understand him.

"It's okay," Draco says. "I will make an equally terrible husband."

It's the first time since Blaise that he has ever willingly shared his secret with anyone.

"Oh," Astoria says and her smile is both horribly understanding and horribly sad. "That's okay then. We can be equally terrible company together."


	12. The Luxury of Dead Parents

Harry doesn't intend to go to the Malfoy Manor Christmas Ball. He'd seen the announcement in the Daily Prophet, the lovingly crafted invitation, and the clear message that by everyone being invited, the Malfoy's clearly meant specific people. Harry can read between the lines. He knows what it means that Draco has not mentioned the Christmas Ball at the Manor. He knows it would be foolish to go when they're supposed to be building a story about Draco pulling away from the Ministry. If Harry didn't know better, he would think that the Ball is an excellent way to push the narrative forward that the Malfoys are second-guessing their decision to help the Ministry after the war.

It's all so very exclusionary without being explicitly so.

Harry knows better than to dwell, but as the night passes on Christmas Eve, he can't help but think of all the things that have happened over the last year. He knows this thing with Draco is something, that it means something that Draco stays for dinner, that they talk more. It matters that Draco asks after Harry's day, that he answers Harry's questions about his own day, that their sarcastic bickering ends in laughter.

Harry doesn't imagine the cramping in his stomach and the hard out of rhythm beating of his heart when he hears Draco's voice coming from a Patronus. Or when he opens a letter and sees Draco's neat script. Harry hates the way he can feel the restlessness underneath his skin, the same buzzing beneath his fingers. The kind that comes before a visit to his psychiatrist and a hard talk with Dr Griffith. Harry knows himself, knows where the limits are and when he needs to back away for his own well-being. Harry knows nothing good will come of him making up ideas about what Draco does or doesn't want.

Draco has always been clear about the secrecy, even if he has never been great at keeping things quiet. Draco is the one who sets the limits and then breaks them. Harry's just left wondering where the edges match, where he can push and Draco will give. He's the one who has to guess and he knows better. He can already hear Hermione in his head, how she'd tell him that nothing that was giving him this much trouble could be good for him.

So he doesn't intend to go to Malfoy Manor. Harry intends to go to sleep, until, nearing eleven that evening, his fireplace jumps to life and Ron staggers through the green flames.

"Malfoy Manor," he says, coughing. "Proudfoot got the call. Someone hexing guests."

"Who?" Harry asks even as he heads for his front door to pull his shoes on.

"Rowle, Selwyn, and Travers, ex-Death Eaters," Ron says. "Proudfoot said Polyjuice. Narcissa Malfoy insists she had no idea they were there, but you know I'd trust a Hungarian Horntail before I trusted her."

"And we got called in?" Harry asks as he opens his door and heads out into the cold winter night.

"Robards is on vacation and Dawlish hates us all but he's on desk duty until the New Year," Ron says. "Three of the people on call got pulled because some kids are doing magic too close to Muggles in Bedfordshire. We're all that's left, mate. Not enough bloody Aurors and still too many people causing trouble. We're still short two Death Eaters, plus all the secret ones who are just waiting until everything calms down to come out of the woodwork."

Ron runs a hand through his hair and tugs.

"Side-along?" Harry asks once they've reached the edges of the protections around his flat.

"Better," Ron says. "I'm three seconds away from losing my mind and I'd rather not splinch myself in front of Malfoy."

Harry holds out his arm and Ron holds on, then, together, they Disapparate.

-

When Harry and Ron make it to Malfoy Manor, there are already groups of guests pushing their way through the driveway. Harry sees head after head of smartly dressed witches and wizards trying to push their way past Proudfoot. Proudfoot stands by the entrance to the driveway, trying to shove the wrought-iron gates closed. Harry and Ron move forward and Proudfoot almost sags in relief when he sees them.

"Potter, Weasley," he says, motioning to the gates.

Harry and Ron each grab a side and tug until they get the gates closed behind them. Proudfoot, seeming to draw strength from their presence, casts a Sonorous and orders everyone back inside.

"Got the three Death Eaters under control," he says under his breath to Harry and Ron. "When I got here, they were already tied up. I hear McLaggen got two of them good and some of the other guests helped. Don't know why I'm surprised, but I heard from some of the guests that the Malfoys made themselves scarce when everything went down. Suppose they don't want to be caught so close to Death Eaters after everything, but still. At their own home?"

"You sure that's what happened?" Ron asks. "You asked everyone already? Got all the statements?"

Proudfoot visibly draws himself up to his full height, but even so, he's still shorter than Ron. Harry watches, trying to hide the surprise he feels, as Ron gives a pointed once over to the mass of guests currently looking like they'd be more than glad to trample the three of them.

"Woah," Proudfoot says. "Relax. I only meant that we're not going to be arresting Cormac McLaggen for associating with Death Eaters."

"The Malfoys were cleared of all charges," Ron says.

Again, Harry's caught by surprise as Ron just ploughs ahead. "What are we going to do about the guests?" he asks Proudfoot.

Proudfoot shakes his head and shrugs almost helplessly. "Robards wanted me here as soon as possible. He told me I was to make sure nothing happened to the guests and that I was to take statements. I have something like forty people wanting to leave and just you two to help. I called for backup but we're wrapping the case in Bedfordshire and I can't expect anyone until an hour from now. We'll just have to do this ourselves and keep an eye on the three bodies."

"We split up," Harry says. "Take a room in Malfoy Manor, get everyone's statement as quick as we can. I doubt anyone here willingly let known Death Eaters in."

"Yeah," Ron says, darkly. "And if they did and I find out, I will personally hex their balls off."

Proudfoot raises an eyebrow, but Ron waves him off, and they turn back towards the crowd.

The organization of the interrogations goes smoother than Harry anticipated. Narcissa Malfoy meets them at the front of the Manor and directs them upstairs to the two rooms to the immediate left of the staircase. Ron and Proudfoot take a room each and Harry's left organizing the guests into two orderly lines. It's slow work, but the guests cooperate for the most part when they see Harry at the foot of the stairs.

They have gone through two-thirds of the guests by the time Savage and Neville make it. Harry thinks he might have an opportunity to look for Draco who has been largely absent during the whole process. But Neville and Savage have to take Rowle, Selwyn, and Travers, and Harry's left standing at the foot of the stairs, counting down guests.

When the line is down to the last handful of people, Neville and Savage come back. Williamson and some of the other Aurors not on duty have taken over the arrest paperwork back at the Ministry. So Harry takes the break offered to him and heads into the ballroom.

He finds Draco standing by the far wall under sprigs of mistletoe and pine. Draco doesn't look up as Harry makes his way over, but he knows Draco hears his footsteps as they echo on the ballroom floor. Harry looks Draco over, his eyes scanning for signs that Draco might be hurt. Draco takes it all in stride, doesn't complain, doesn't throw furtive glances over his shoulder.

"Are you all right?" Harry asks.

"I didn't do anything," Draco says. "You know, in case someone else was watching. Travers tried to hex my mother and I just let it happen. I'm supposed to keep my cover, right? It's what Kingsley wants."

Harry takes a tentative step closer, just enough to put him in Draco's eyeline but not close enough to touch yet. He can see Draco's eyes staring off into the distance. He's miles away, but when Harry ducks his head, Draco meets his eyes.

"It's not your fault," Harry says. "No one got hurt."

Draco's exhale is shaky and Harry wishes they were back in his flat, away from prying eyes and what's left of the party guests. He shifts, lets his eyes settle over Draco and his midnight blue dress robes. Harry doesn't need to ask to know that Draco likes blues. They stand there, under the mistletoe, and Harry can't keep his eyes away from Draco. He's not just looking for signs that Draco is hurting. What Harry really wants is for Draco to know that he's here, that Draco isn't alone.

It's messy and complicated and Harry never thought he would have this with Draco Malfoy. He never imagined that he would one day stand under mistletoe wishing he could kiss Draco. He wishes it were easy, that they were the kind of people who could have this freedom. He wishes he was anyone but Harry Potter and that Draco was anyone but Draco Malfoy.

"I know you're hurting," Harry says. "I'm sorry."

Draco looks up and Harry knows he isn't imagining the way Draco's face goes soft, how everything about him relaxes in Harry's presence. They understand each other in a way that Harry hadn't thought possible. And it scares him sometimes that he doesn't always know how it is that they could understand each other, what that says about the people they are that they can do this now when they could never have managed it before.

"Thank you for coming," Draco says.

*

It's that he's exhausted, Draco reasons. It's that he had been talking to Astoria and Pansy and Blaise one minute, and the next there had been a bang and a flash of purple light. The guests had screamed and Blaise had grabbed both Pansy and Astoria and had shoved them to the ground. It's that Draco had had his wand in his hand the second he'd heard the first bang, but he hadn't used it. He'd had every chance, and instead, he had grabbed Astoria and Pansy and had gotten them out of the ballroom. He'd gone back for Blaise and his mother, and by the time Draco had been able to find them in the chaos, it had all been over.

It's just that, after everything, Draco isn't allowed to be himself at work either. He can't blow his cover, has to pretend like the war meant nothing, like the scars on his body just never existed. He can feel each one, throbbing like fresh wounds, as he thinks about the night and what he hadn't done. The sacrifices he must make for a better tomorrow, for Kingsley, for the Ministry.

He's just so exhausted of being nothing and everything for everyone except himself.

So when Harry Potter walks into the ballroom and stares at Draco with those green eyes, when he tells Draco that he's sorry Draco's hurting, Draco doesn't try to pretend it means nothing. He lets Harry's words settle over his skin like a balm to the open wounds Draco carries. When Harry Potter looks at him with that softness, with that barely-there smile, Draco closes the space between them and kisses him.

They're soft kisses meant to comfort. Small, gentle things, as Harry's hands slide from under Draco's jaw into his hair. For a moment, with Harry in his arms, Draco begins to feel something warm and whole in his chest. A band that squeezes in the best way possible, a loss of breath that Draco is almost starting to understand.

He chases after it, presses harder against Harry's mouth. They tilt their heads and the kisses get deeper, and Draco's body knows where this goes. He leans into the feeling, into the warmth of Harry Potter's mouth and the hard lines of his body.

Draco knows better than this, but he lets himself stay a moment longer, just enough to memorize the feel of Harry Potter's hands on him. Just enough that he'll remember later when everything is done. They pull apart, their noses brushing against each other before Draco pulls away.

It's not even a surprise when he lifts his head and sees his father standing at the entrance of the ballroom. With a calm he doesn't yet fully understand, Draco turns back to Harry. He does his best to memorize the smile on Harry's face, the way his hair hangs like a mass of waves on top of his head. It's been good while it lasted, Draco thinks, and he finds that he can't bring himself to regret all that he's done.

"I have to go," Draco says.

He doesn't wait for Harry to answer as Draco heads out after his father. Like a prisoner headed to their execution, he follows, head down but at peace because now, at least, it's over.

-

The conversation takes place on Christmas Day, at one o'clock in the morning, when the Aurors are gone and Draco's mother is asleep in her room. Draco sits across from his father at the kitchen table, both blond heads bowed over mugs of tea. Draco can hear his heart beating in the silence between him and his father. The absence of words is a comfort even as Draco waits for the inevitable fallout. He has done something worse than wanting a man. He has gambled the Malfoy name and has come out short.

"Did you think I did not know about your late-night wandering?" Lucius asks, finally.

His words echo in the empty kitchen, the accusations ringing through every corner, louder and louder until it's all Draco can hear. Accusations hurled at him from every direction as he thinks of the number of times he had pushed plans aside to meet Harry Potter. How many times had Draco said no to meeting the Greengrasses because the lure of Harry's mouth had been stronger? How long has Draco been choosing Harry over everyone else? Over his mother and father?

"Is Potter who you were meeting?"

When Draco was ten years old, before Hogwarts, he remembers sitting across from his parents at the kitchen table as they discussed Dumbledore and Muggle-borns at Hogwarts. Draco remembers the animated way his father spoke, how he was so sure of himself. How at the end of the conversation, his mother and father had looked at him and had told him that he could never repeat what he had heard. That if he loved them and loved his father, he would keep quiet, that to speak was to invite danger.

Then the Dark Lord had come to their home, and to speak was to die, to question was to die. Draco has lived through violence and hate that has seared him down to the deepest parts of himself. He knows himself, knows the anger that he sometimes can't handle is a way to protect himself because if Draco doesn't, he knows he won't be able to live with who he's becoming.

His father in front of him, his anger, the clear disgust on his face, this too is a way for Lucius Malfoy to live with himself. Draco knows it's easier to hate him and what he does with Harry Potter than it is to think that Lucius was the one who gambled the family name and lost it first. And even as he knows this, Draco understands that he has let his mother down, that he has put her future in danger because Harry is warm in the mornings.

"What bothers you more?" Draco asks. "That it's a man or that it's Potter?"

The distance between them may as well be a chasm. Draco and his father stare at each other and in the light the moon casts, Draco almost believes he's looking at himself.

"You did this," Lucius says. "You brought us here."

Draco is so taken aback, it takes him a moment to register his father's word. "What exactly is my fault?" he asks.

"I know what you did the night Harry Potter escaped the Manor," Lucius says and his words might as well be knives, they cut so deep.

Draco knows what he's done. He had been there when the Dark Lord had carved his initials into Lucius Malfoy's arm. He had seen his mother tortured and punished for something that Draco had done. He had been the one to say no, the one to hand Weasley back his wand. He had told Potter to go to the basement, had lost all the prisoners. He doesn't regret what he did, and he will never be able to make it up to his mother for the way he would do it again with no hesitation.

"You let him go and your mother and I suffered because of your choices, Draco, and we still forgave you," his father says. "We loved you, despite what you did to us. To this family. And so now, you must show us that you love us the same way."

Draco chooses a spot over his father's shoulder, darkness in the kitchen to cover the past tense. He stares at it and tries to feel nothing.

"Don't do this to your mother," Lucius says. "She has already suffered enough."

Draco thinks of Blaise, his sarcastic laughter and the way he had of making Draco come apart in his hands. He thinks of the blonds in Hungary, of the quick blowjobs in dirty bathroom stalls. He even thinks of Pansy's hands in his hair and her quiet moans in his ear, how he had tried so hard to feel something with her. How miserable he had been when it had been other girls and how he had shoved that as far back into himself as he could. Until he was this, empty and unfeeling.

"I don't care if you've chosen Astoria Greengrass against my wishes. I respect the decision you've taken," Lucius says. "But now that you have made your choice, you will marry Astoria. And you will stop seeing Harry Potter. If you don't, I will go to any Prophet reporter that will have me and tell them about the case you are working on. And then, you will not only lose any credibility you have scraped together as a Gringotts Curse-Breaker, but you will lose whatever nonsense job you think the Ministry will give you at the end of this charade."

"You would sink us again over this?" Draco asks.

Lucius Malfoy stands, towering over Draco in the empty kitchen. "I would bury us all if it meant keeping a son of mine from further depravity."

"I am your only son," Draco says.

What he means is that they all only have each other. That at the end of the war, no one had come to their aid, that the Malfoys had had to survive like always. Draco means that without him, they would have nothing.

"You are my only son," Lucius says. "That is why I will do everything I can to save you."

*

#### Prophet Socials

**Astoria Greengrass & Draco Lucius Malfoy**

_It is with great joy that the Malfoy and Greengrass families announce the engagement of their children, Astoria Greengrass and Draco Lucius Malfoy. Draco Malfoy, the only son of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, currently works at Gringotts as one of the bank's Curse-Breakers. Astoria Greengrass is a recent graduate of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The happy couple looks forward to a summer wedding in the coming months._

*

The engagement announcements go out the day after the New Year, when Draco is hungover and tired of deflecting Potter's attempts at communication. It's as though everything has gone backwards, even though Draco feels as though he's hurtling towards the inevitable future. He sits in his room, the Prophet open to the socials' page, and watches himself grip Astoria's hand as she waves cheerfully. They look good together, right, as though Astoria was always meant to stand at Draco's side.

Their engagement had been a quick drawing up of a contract to keep their respective fortunes separate. Their parents had gathered around the sitting room table, with lawyers by their sides, as Draco, Astoria, and Daphne had stood together by the large window. They had said nothing, not even when Mr Greengrass had rolled up his copy of the engagement agreement and had gathered his things. Astoria and Daphne had followed after their father without a word and Draco had disappeared into his room.

He doesn't leave unless he has to, does his best to avoid his father. Lucius has told no one what he saw on Christmas Day and Draco doesn't think that his father will follow through on his threats. Draco is doing these things of his own free will. He'll marry Astoria, will have children with her, grow old with her, perhaps find some semblance of happiness with her. If he waits and if his calculations are right, there will come a day when Draco will have paid back his parents in full.

He knows, despite the horrible pain in the centre of his chest, that it'll all be worth it in the end.

-

Pansy and Blaise show up almost as soon as the engagement announcement appears in the Prophet. They burst into Draco's room, Pansy's mascara smudged under her eyes. Blaise is pristine as always. He takes one look at Draco and whatever sarcastic remark he was going to say dies in his mouth.

"You're not marrying Astoria Greengrass," Pansy says.

Draco picks up the Prophet as Pansy comes to sit at his side. Blaise walks over, takes the paper from Draco's hands and tosses it over his shoulder.

"Father knows about Potter," Draco says.

The three of them are quiet as they digest the information. Even though Draco has not said it, what he means is that Lucius Malfoy will not forgive his only son loving another man. There is a loneliness to the moment because Pansy doesn't have to marry Theodore Nott or anyone else she doesn't want to. Because Blaise's mother loves him far more than she has ever loved any of her husbands, more than she'll ever love herself. Blaise stands before Draco with all the evidence of a man who has always held first place in his home. They don't know, but at the very least, they understand what it means that Lucius knows.

"I'm sorry," Pansy says.

Draco inhales and when he exhales, the same sense of calm that he had felt on Christmas Eve is back. He knows what he's meant to do now. There are no more uncertainties in his life. He has a plan and a path, and perhaps one day, he'll have children who he'll love. He can't do anything about himself and Astoria, but with her, they can do something about those who will come after them. After all, it's Draco himself and not his children who owe Lucius and Narcissa.

"It won't be forever," Draco says, leaning his head on Blaise as he sits next to Draco. "Just until my parents are dead or I am."

He doesn't mean it the way it sounds, wouldn't throw away the small chance he has in that way. Pansy and Blaise understand why Draco must marry Astoria. With them here, Draco feels that this is something he can do. He imagines that with time, he and Astoria might be able to pry themselves from their parents' watchful eyes. They might move to another city, to another country, where they can allow each other to be who they really are.

Astoria is the reason Draco is doing this. He knows what it is to be in her position, to want something and have it rejected. He can help her. Draco knows he can't help himself, so he must do this for her. Because she deserves to know what it's like to be free, the way Draco had begun to feel free in Harry Potter's arms.

He thinks of Astoria's bright smile and the way she had drawn him away from both their parents at the Christmas Ball, how easily she had shared her secret with Draco, how he had never worried about what she might say when he told her his. They have talked more since then, snuck away while their parents worked out their engagement. He has walked around the Manor with her and he knows, if they were different people, he might be glad to grow old with her.

"I like her," Draco says.

Pansy sighs. "Yeah," she says. "Me too."

-

Harry shows up at Malfoy Manor on the day Draco's father gets called to the Ministry for clarification on his statement from Christmas. Draco's mother is with Astoria's family, planning a wedding now that they've set June 6th as their wedding date. A day after Draco's birthday so that they can celebrate two things in one.

It snowed the night before, a week after the New Year, the January chill seeping into the bones of Malfoy Manor. Wherever Draco goes, he can feel the drafts fighting against the lit fireplaces. He considers going outside and taking a walk into the forests behind the Manor, anything to distract him from the pile of unsolved cases on his bedside table.

He has just picked up another file when the warning comes that Harry Potter is at the gates of Malfoy Manor. It has been so long that Draco says yes before he can think better of it. He puts down the file he's holding and comes to stand at the foot of his bed. He runs a hand through his hair and smooths a hand down his shirt. He can feel his heart at his throat, and the nervous energy he has carried over the past weeks simmers just underneath.

He's almost shaking by the time his bedroom door opens and Harry walks in. He looks like everything Draco has always wanted, unruly dark brown hair, angry green eyes, clenched jaw. Draco knows what Harry sounds like when he's laughing, when he wakes up in the morning, how good he is at making breakfast. It's that Draco has wanted Harry Potter for so long, he doesn't know how to not want him.

"You're getting married," Harry says, lifting the Prophet he holds in his right hand. "Were you planning to tell me or was I supposed to guess?"

"I…" Draco starts, but then he looks at Harry and all the things he was going to say don't seem worth the effort.

He sits down on his bed and drops his head into his hands. He doesn't understand how everything got so tangled, how he got here, shaking on his bed and wishing Harry would touch him.

There is silence in the room and Draco knows Harry's watching him, that Harry's always watching him.

"Is your dad making you do this?" Harry asks, sounding horrified.

Draco looks up and he can tell that Harry doesn't understand. Not the way Pansy and Blaise had, not as Astoria had. There is nothing Draco can do to change this because to do so he would have to walk out on his mother and father. And that is the one thing he can't do because nothing can be more important than family. Because Draco has known all his life that the one constant thing will always be family. That he owes them for everything.

"I want to do this," Draco says. "I have to."

Harry frowns and here, at last, is the unravelling of everything. Draco watches as Harry tries to place himself in Draco's shoes, how he rejects what Draco is doing. Draco can almost hear the word "coward" whispered into the silence between them.

"You once told me," Harry says. "That I didn't have to do anything I didn't want to."

"Yes," Draco says, laughing in spite of himself. "And here we both are, doing things we don't want to do simply because there are too many people we don't want to disappoint."

"No," Harry says, shaking his head. "Being an Auror is about me, about what I want to do. I'm not doing Auror work to please my homophobic parents."

"Don't bring my parents into this," Draco says, and the anger that has started to slowly disappear over the last year is back. Draco feels it in his throat, the quick flash of heat up his chest and into his head. He feels the air scrape down his throat and Draco takes a careful deep breath.

"What?" Harry asks and Draco can see the inevitable end as Harry gets angry. "You think they deserve my respect? After everything? They don't deserve anything from me and they don't deserve anything from you."

"I'm going to do this," Draco says.

Harry nods. "Okay," he says. "So end it."

It should be funny that even though Draco has a fiancée and a wedding, he never stopped to think that it would mean the end of what he and Harry have. He has forgotten that what he and Harry have has an expiration date, that even without Astoria, Rita Skeeter still looms over them. He looks at Harry now and the sudden realization that this will be over, that he won't have even Harry to soothe away the horrible, hollow feeling in Draco's chest, is too much.

Draco stands and he doesn't know what he intends to do, where he could possibly escape to in his own home. He just knows he has to go before he does something he regrets, before he asks Harry Potter to stay.

"Don't run," Harry says. "Just...stop running."

Draco's breath comes out in short bursts. He looks at the determination on Harry's face and takes a step back. When his back hits a bed pole, Draco remembers another night, over a year ago, when he had let himself finally touch Harry.

This time, it's Harry who moves to close the distance between them. Harry who gets his hands in Draco's hair and pulls him down so that their mouths slot together. It's soft at first, just the careful aligning of mouths, and even that is enough to knock the breath out of Draco.

"Stay," Harry says between kisses. "Don't run."

Here, finally, is the real problem: that in between the heat of Harry Potter's mouth and his soft caresses, Draco will be unable to say no.

Draco inhales shakily, gets his hands on Harry's chest and pushes until he has enough space to breathe. "I can't do this," he says.

"You don't have to do what they tell you," Harry says and this time, he sounds almost pitying.

Draco thinks of his mother, of the way she has come alive ever since Draco gave her free reins of wedding preparations. He thinks of Lucius at their kitchen table telling Draco that he had loved him, that his mother had been through enough, that if Draco loves them both, he'll do as he's told. He thinks of his father after the war, of how close they all came to losing each other, of how some days, it's almost as though they're back to before the Dark Lord came back for his second war. How the absence of choice is a welcomed reprieve from everything Draco has been carrying these past few years.

"You don't understand," Draco says.

Harry takes a step forward and Draco takes one back.

"Draco," Harry says. "I know what you're going through, but—"

"No, you don't know," Draco says, letting the anger wash over him until all he has left is a cold knot at the centre of his stomach. "You can't ever understand what this is like. Not all of us have the luxury of dead parents, Potter."

Draco knows he's overstepped because Harry shuts down. In all the time that they have spent together, Draco has not seen him expressionless. It isn't who Harry Potter is. Harry Potter is a whirlwind of emotions, passionate about what he believes in. He doesn't stand silent, he fights back.

"All right," Harry says and Draco knows something has broken between them. "So, this is it, then?"

 _It doesn't have to be_ , Draco wants to say. But that would be selfish and cruel, and this is after the war.

"Goodbye, Potter," Draco says.

*

Harry doesn't intend to leave without saying goodbye to Ron and Hermione, but he knows he can't stay and watch Draco get married to Astoria Greengrass. He can feel the intruding thoughts pushing their way through as he makes his way into his bedroom. He hears "the luxury of dead parents" over and over until it becomes background noise to his pacing. Suddenly, it makes sense why Draco had never let Harry get closer than where he had wanted, how the invisible lines Harry had been stepping over, in the beginning, had nothing to do with Draco and had everything to do with Harry. He was the one who had misunderstood, who had let himself get carried away. Draco had always said this was nothing serious and Harry had agreed. So it's his fault that things got so out of control because Harry was the one who let himself believe there was ever more to what he and Draco were doing.

Harry knows he can't stay alone tonight, that he'll have to swing by Ron and Hermione's and impose on them again. He pulls his trunk from the foot of the bed, opens it, and tosses all his old school books onto the floor. He'll worry about cleaning up later when everything has slowed down some and he has had time to think. Right now, Harry needs space, somewhere he can't get to the papers.

Harry goes to his closet, pulls out clothes and tosses them into his open trunk. He grabs robes at random, an old pair of shoes. He waves his wand and toiletries fly through the open bathroom door. There's no methodology to the packing, no need to spare thought to what he might need. If he doesn't have something, Ron and Hermione will lend it to him.

Once everything is packed, Harry drags his trunk through the flat and into the kitchen. He opens the cupboards above the stove and pulls out his two pill bottles. He tucks those into his pocket as he heads to his front door. He chooses to walk, his Invisibility Cloak thrown over himself and his trunk. He lets the night air blow some feeling back into his limbs, lets the frigid, January chill accompany him to Ron and Hermione's home.

When he gets there, he stands in front of Ron and Hermione's flat just watching the snow piled onto their roof. He can see their eggshell curtains through the light coming from their kitchen. He imagines Ron making tea while Hermione reads through her files, how she'd have her hair tied at the top of her head. Harry pictures their looks of surprise when he rings their doorbell, how Ron would know right away something was wrong. How he might find comfort in Ron's firm grip and that careful way he has of shaking Harry's shoulder, how it grounds Harry every time he does it.

Harry stands in the snow, the handle of his trunk in his left hand, his wand in his right. He can't bring himself to cross the street. They don't deserve the upheaval Harry will bring to their lives right now. But he has nowhere else to go. And even as he thinks it, Harry remembers Kingsley, tired and bruised, telling Harry that he had a cottage in the country if Harry ever needed it.

Harry looks at Ron and Hermione's home one last time, pretends he can see them through the curtains in their kitchen. Then, he closes his eyes, thinks of a house in Devon where he had dinner some time ago and is gone.


	13. Discovery

It's a Tuesday in March and Draco is in Diagon Alley with Astoria when he gets the letter. It's a small, neatly folded piece of parchment that he pulls out of his pocket when he goes to pay for his new set of dress robes. The parchment is folded in eight neat squares and when Draco unfolds it, in its centre, in neat block letters, is **Fortescue's, 12 March, 9pm.**

Draco tucks the piece of parchment into his robes and mentions nothing to Astoria as they head back into Diagon Alley. She holds onto his arm as they walk and Draco notices her gait is slower these days. She leans more against his arm as though all the walking has exhausted her.

"Do you want to sit for a moment?" Draco asks her.

They're passing the little cafe that sits where Fortescue's used to be. The pastel green and white storefront remains the same in honour of Fortescue who went missing during the war and never came back. The witch who owns the cafe is a cousin of Fortescue and she keeps his old sign, even though she doesn't sell ice cream anymore. Draco likes coming here because the booths inside give the feeling of privacy and the coffee is better than any Draco has tasted in a long time. On some days, if one catches Ms Fortescue in a good mood, she'll even give out her good biscuits with the orders.

Draco and Astoria head inside and Draco lets his eyes wander around the semi-circular space. In the centre, like a half-moon, sits the counter and the display cases. The glass is immaculate, much like the polished, dark floor and the booths. Inside the display cases sit an array of desserts, shining galleon-sized fruit tarts, buttery croissants, and sandwiches.

Astoria takes a seat to the far left of the store and Draco gets them drinks. He takes his time as he walks over to the counter, lets his eyes wander without it seeming as though he's interested in anything other than the menu. There is nothing that immediately jumps out at him. The booths on the other side of the cafe are half-full, and the only door besides the bathroom at the back is the door to the kitchen. 

Draco picks up his drinks and carries them back to Astoria. She has left him the side facing the rest of the cafe and Draco slides in, surprised but grateful.

"You're looking for something," she says when Draco hands her the tea.

"And you tire faster than usual," he says in response.

Astoria takes a sip of her tea and this close, Draco can see the careful application of makeup under her eyes.

"We're getting married," Draco says.

It feels foolish to say it aloud. Ever since Potter came to his home the week after the New Year, Draco has known that this with Astoria is happening. He has made plans. Their parents have made plans. They have sat and talked, and have both come to the conclusion that this is their only chance. That Astoria wants freedom as much as Draco does, that she's willing to wait to be able to find it in some other country where no one knows who they are. She understands Draco, wants the same things he does, and for that reason alone, she is Draco's only hope.

"My parents will be glad to hear it, so will yours," Astoria says with a wry smile. "They've been trying to get you to marry Daphne for something like seventeen years now."

He sees two people stopping to take a look at Fortescue's, but from this distance, he can't see their faces. They don't come inside and after a moment longer, they move on.

"I'm not marrying Daphne," Draco says, turning back to Astoria.

"No, you are not," she says. "It's too late for you to change your mind. You promised me France and wild, depraved nights."

Draco gives her a pained look over the rim of his cup. "We agreed, nothing before the wedding, darling," he says.

"Or," she whispers, throwing a look over her shoulders before leaning forward. "You could bring Pansy and Blaise and we could really make it a party."

"I dated Pansy," he says, waits for her disappointed frown, and laughs when he sees it. "But if you insist."

Astoria heaves a great sigh and turns sideways in her seat to look out into the cafe. She looks bored and if Draco didn't know that they both want the same things, he might consider being offended. But Astoria turns back to him as she always does, mischief lighting up her eyes.

"We should move in together," she says. "Get away from our parents. Really relax before the wedding."

"Are you asking me to live with you?" Draco asks, raising an eyebrow in disbelief.

Astoria shrugs at him and though her smile is playful, Draco knows she means this. She isn't a person who takes things lightly. The charm and casual feminine beauty are all things Astoria has cultivated in an attempt to distract from how her eyes wander. She's intelligent and witty, and the playfulness that comes out whenever she's with Draco is who she really is when she isn't afraid. She and Daphne are not blindly obedient, but there is something in Astoria that has the potential to be breathtakingly rebellious and free. Draco is starting to fear that she might be everything he wishes he were.

"If we move in together, I'll know what's wrong eventually."

Astoria rolls her eyes, tosses back her long hair, and sighs as though Draco is inconveniencing her. "Remember that there is no taking back this engagement," she says. "You have promised to marry me and love me until we die."

It's different with Astoria. Draco has noticed that the same things that used to scare him with Blaise and with Harry don't hold the same terror when Astoria says them. It doesn't matter that she jokes about commitment and life long bonds. Draco knows what he has with her, knows that he isn't afraid because neither of them will ever love each other more than they're loyal to their families.

Joking about things on the side, planning a future where they're both free, these are small recompenses. It's their payment for doing what their parents want, for protecting their names and their fortunes. Rita Skeeter becomes irrelevant now that Draco is going to marry Astoria. Together, they have done what Draco would have never been able to do with anyone else. And, unlike Pansy, Draco and Astoria owe nothing to each other.

"Tell me," he says.

Astoria sighs again and this time when she turns her big brown eyes on Draco, there's something angry in them. "I'm dying," she says. "Blood curse. Family ancestor pissed off a strong Dark Wizard and here we are."

Draco thinks of her carefully applied makeup, of how she'll stop sometimes on their walks and ask to see something in a store window. She never used to hold his arm before.

"It's getting worse," he says.

Astoria smiles, her pleasantly charming one. She's all air of innocence and wifely fealty and she'll never be able to fool Draco ever again.

"And you still want to marry me?" Draco asks.

He can't imagine what he would do if he were in her place. It's not her fault she has inherited a problem that was never her's to suffer. He can't begin to imagine the anger that must lay beneath her peaceful demeanour. He doesn't understand how she has done this for so long, how she can continue exuding peace and tranquillity wherever she goes.

"If I marry you," Astoria says. "Our parents get what they want, and you and I can do the rest of it in secret. And when I'm dead, you'll be free. Everyone wins."

Freedom in death. This is what is left to them.

"Okay," Draco says. "Let's find a place to live."

-

That evening, Draco paces in his bedroom at the foot of his bed. He hears Astoria's voice in his head, her matter-of-fact tone, the sound of her laughter. He doesn't deserve her help. Draco is too afraid of everything even now, but he'll guard her secret as though it's his. And if Astoria wants this, Draco will do everything he can to give her what she wants. She's saving him, and it's the least Draco can do.

When it's half-past eight, Draco pulls his travelling cloak from his closet and heads out into the night. He walks past the driveway and into the country road. When he's sure that no one can see him from the Manor, he Disapparates. The Leaky Cauldron is crowded when Draco passes through. He has to squeeze between tables and people waiting in line to get something from Hannah Abbott at the bar.

In the alley behind the Leaky Cauldron, Draco makes sure there is no one around before he sends a quick Patronus to Kingsley. Tonight, Draco needs someone to know where he's going, just in case he's walking into a trap. After all this time, it's still easier to send Kingsley a Patronus than to try and talk to Robards. Kingsley hasn't told Draco he should stop, so Draco continues to pass along information whenever he has anything new. Robards gets what's leftover.

Draco continues into Diagon Alley and everywhere he turns there are people walking, some of them ducking into stores to pick up last minute things. There is still enough time before everything shuts down at ten. The smaller shops are closed and when Draco gets to Fortescue's, the lights are off and the shades are drawn. He glances over his shoulder, but the crowd is thinner on this side. Draco steps forward and when he tries the front door, it gives way under his hand. He pushes it open just enough to slip in and lets it close behind him.

Draco casts a quick _Lumos_ , but the shop is empty. The few chairs at the counter are up, white covers thrown over the coffee machines to keep them clean. There is nothing that jumps out at Draco, but when he casts a quick revealing spell, he finds that there are five others somewhere in the little shop. He's careful to keep his back to the door as he takes a second careful look around.

He catches the flickering light from the corner of his eyes in the direction of the bathroom. Draco walks over, a sense of deja vu washing over him as he pushes the door open into a white tiled bathroom. He sees the freshly carved snake on the edge of the mirror that hangs above the sink almost at once. Draco touches his wand to the mark and the snake twists until it forms the infinity symbol and swallows its tail. All it's missing is the skull and the glowing green flames. Draco touches the scars on his arm expecting it to burn as the snake in the mirror curls on itself.

As the snake stops moving in the corner of the mirror, the sink parts down the middle and Draco is left staring at stairs leading into a darkened basement. He taps his fingers against his wand, decides to keep it up, and heads down the stairs. As soon as he's past the first three steps, the sink behind him closes and lights at the foot of the stair flicker on. It's a single bulb throwing orange light into the concrete ground and the stone wall in front of the staircase.

Draco heads down and around the staircase. In front of him is a low-ceilinged basement with stone walls and long support beams. At the centre of the room stand five people in a half-circle. They surround a group of flickering candles that emanate the faint scent of almonds. Draco throws his shoulders back, lets his eyes wander the room lazily. When the group of people steps forward, Draco sees that they're all about his age. The first four he knows only peripherally, from gatherings his mother and father had when he was little. They're all purebloods, the children of Death Eaters, or both. He thinks Pucey, Rookwood, Gibbon, and Macnair.

The fifth person Draco would know anywhere. Standing at the edge of the circle like always, silent and strong, stands Goyle. His brown eyes look to Draco and away when he sees Draco looking back. They haven't seen each other since the Battle of Hogwarts, after the Room of Requirement, after Crabbe. Draco never knew what happened to Goyle. He never thought it right to ask. They had both known that something had changed between them, after everything.

"Well," Draco says, looking at the five people gathered in front of him. "Is this everyone?"

-

The next weeks go by with more of the same. Draco goes for walks with Astoria, tries to slow down until Astoria gets annoyed and starts dragging him along. They wander Diagon Alley, looking at things to put in their new house. Draco had expected their parents to put up resistance. He would have thought that Lucius would want him nearby, all things considered. But Astoria had smiled through the conversation with both of their parents and at the end of it, she had gotten her way.

Draco attempts to rebuild his life. He and Astoria get a nice three-bedroom home in London under the pretext of turning the second bedroom into an office and the third for guests. Astoria and Draco move away, and Draco does invite Pansy and Blaise, who complain about every one of his furniture choices. Astoria takes over the living room, fills it with vibrant shades of blues, a silvery blue for the walls that reminds Draco too much of Potter's bedroom. There is comfort in that and Draco doesn't ask her to change it.

The new furniture comes in and Draco rearranges his bedroom multiple times, lets Blaise test the amount of light that his bed would get in the mornings. Pansy and Astoria shout encouragement from their corner of the room, Pansy sitting cross-legged and Astoria perched daintily on a stool. They have finished unpacking all of Astoria's things days before, and when Draco asks Pansy if she's planning to help, Pansy winks and blows him a kiss. So, it's Draco, arranging and rearranging, wondering why nothing feels right, why there's always something missing when he thinks he finally has it together.

Every now and then, Draco gets a slip of paper tucked into his robes. It happens whenever he's out with Astoria and he's paused for long enough in Diagon Alley. Or when Astoria decides she wants to step into a store, or when they take a break in Fortescue's cafe. Draco goes to the DLF meetings and is bitterly disappointed when he finds out that Ms Fortescue has joined the meetings as well. He had his suspicions, but some part of him had hoped that she had not known.

He tells Kingsley and Robards, and together they start piecing it all together. Draco collects ten names and the Aurors start building profiles. Robards sends them to Draco so that he can review and make necessary additions or adjustments. The worst part of everything is that most of the people in the DLF are just kids, with parents who died or ended up in Azkaban. They're angry and alone and there is no one in the world to help them.

Despite the changes in laws, there are still people who turn the other way when Draco and Astoria walk down the street. He hears the whispers, sees the suspicion. He knows what it's like to live a life after the war. He made it, but he had the support and love of his parents. He had Kingsley, who for whatever reason, decided that Draco was worth the effort.

He had Potter, no matter how briefly.

-

April rolls around and the skies dawn grey. It rains so much that everything starts picking up a wet concrete smell, something earthy as the grass starts to grow and the trees fill out. Draco and Astoria's house is surrounded by a shared garden and Draco watches as Astoria goes out and talks to their neighbours. They live across from a Muggle couple with three children who have taken a liking to Astoria.

The day is calm, a sort of peace settling into the corners of Draco's room. He has left the planning of the eventual raid on all the DLF members up to Robards and his group. Draco is only needed every once in a while to confirm details or give his opinion. He hasn't been asked to be part of the Auror task force conducting the rain, and even though the looming deadline that Rita Skeeter has set no longer bothers him, Draco is still nervous about what happens next.

He can still hear his father's doubts. They linger in his head, like the storm clouds in the sky. The truth is that Draco doesn't know if Kingsley's offer to release Draco's role in all of this still stands. Robards, for all his faults, seems adamant that Draco is to be as much a part as possible in the coming raid. It bodes well that Robards seems certain Draco will join the Aurors eventually because, in order for that to happen, Draco's name has to be cleared in some way.

The days move forward and Draco focuses on his meetings with Robards and Kingsley, with the DLF, with Astoria and her insistence on doing things she shouldn't. The days crawl by and when there seems to be too much time in between, Draco goes out and finds something to do. He keeps moving because if he stops, he'll have to think and that's the last thing he wants to do.

He goes over invitations with Astoria and once he sees the little cream-coloured cards with the golden letters, it becomes real. He and Astoria stand in their kitchen, the invitations in a bundle on their marble counter. She's wearing her favourite midnight-blue dressing gown and Draco is in jeans and a matching blue shirt.

"So this is it," Astoria says.

Draco sees the slanted lines spelling out his name, the curve of the s on Astoria's name. They're to be married a day after Draco's birthday and that will be it, forever. Just him and Astoria in a house with too many rooms and not enough people.

"Did you know," Draco says, "We still don't know much about each other."

Astoria picks up one of the invitations and turns it over. "I see what you're saying," she says. "Go ahead. Tell me something about yourself that I don't know."

Draco shakes his head. "Something about me that no one knows," he says.

"Something only your wife would know," Astoria nods.

"I always thought," Draco starts, having to pause as he gathers himself. "I always thought that if I...if there had been some way...if I hadn't been in Slytherin, I would have liked to be in Ravenclaw."

He has never spoken the words aloud. They have lived at the back of his mind like cobwebs clinging to the darkest corners. Draco had always been destined for Slytherin. But if the possibility of a second choice had ever been presented to him, he likes to think the hat might have chosen Ravenclaw.

"You would have done well in Ravenclaw," Astoria says. "Daphne always said you were near the top of your class."

"Only ever losing to Granger," Draco says.

They quiet as they look at the invitations before them, stacked little sheets of paper next to a pile of envelopes. Draco pictures himself and Astoria sitting around their kitchen counter, folding invitations and tucking them into envelopes. He imagines the days counting down to June, the table arrangements, the people walking into the venue. The task seems monstrously huge for a moment, countless of endless tasks spinning out before Draco. He doesn't know if anyone remembered to tell the caterer that Astoria is allergic to shellfish.

For one ridiculous moment, as Draco goes back over the finer details of owling almost two hundred people, he entertains the idea of inviting Harry. It's a passing thought, the way things may cross a person's mind before being dismissed as incoherent. Draco would never invite Harry Potter to his wedding. Whatever has happened between them doesn't deserve to be disrespected in that way.

"Tell me your secret," Draco says, doing his best to pull his thoughts away from dangerous places.

Astoria sighs. She sets the invitation she was holding down on the counter, smooths her fingers over it. Draco watches her trace her name, the loops on the wedding date. When she looks up, there is infinite sorrow on her face.

"I like you very much, Draco," she says. "You've never asked for anything but that I be myself, and I appreciate that. We are, quite possibly, the only hope each of us has. But—"

Astoria pauses as she looks at Draco, at their kitchen and the invitations lying on their counter. All the little bows and swirls, the golden arches, the impeccable arrangement of envelopes. Their life so methodically arranged, everything perfect down to the type of ink on their cards. Draco and Astoria have always been destined for this, despite themselves.

"I don't think I can marry you," she says, and so, dooms them both.


	14. Rebirth

Draco doesn't expect Ronald Weasley near eleven o'clock at night. He really isn't in the mood for whatever Auror business has to be done at ridiculous hours. He has enough to deal with regarding his engagement with Astoria.

Draco likes her, more than that, he respects her. He understands why she can't marry him, understands, even, why she took this long to decide. The invitations made everything real in a way that Draco had expected. He had been prepared for the onslaught of regret and guilt, for the bitter sadness that had seeped into his bones at seeing his name and Astoria's. He had expected it, so he had pushed it all to the back of his mind, like he had been pushing away everything he feels for the last few months. Just shoving it away so that it doesn't hurt, so that he can go on and survive this too. 

He does not miss Harry Potter. 

But after Draco's talk with Astoria, he had needed air. He'll not force her into anything she doesn't want and if she needs a place to stay, Draco will allow her that. It's the least he can do for her, because she's everything he has ever thought he wanted, and still nowhere near enough. 

He's sitting on his front porch steps, letting the spring breeze wash over him. He can smell wet dirt from the park and hear the unmistakable, muted sounds of people milling about in the main street a few blocks over. Draco is just considering taking a walk into the night when Weasley Apparates across the street.

They catch each other's eyes and Draco sees the surprise on Weasley's face when he sees Draco is outside. Draco stands, thinking there is business to attend to. He hasn't seen either Potter or Weasley in the last few months. There had been no need and Draco had thought it better to give Harry space. To give himself some room.

"Evening, Weasley," Draco says.

Weasley takes a quick look down the street and crosses over to Draco's porch. He stops at the bottom of the steps and Draco, at the top, doesn't know if he's meant to go down. 

"Have you seen Harry?" Weasley asks. 

It shouldn't be so painful to hear Potter's name from the mouth of someone who knows him far more than Draco does. He hears the worry behind Weasley's voice and thinks a million different things, before settling on Harry going missing during an Auror mission. But it doesn't add up almost as quickly. There would be no reason for Weasley to be at Draco's door at this hour asking for Harry if that were the case. 

Potter doesn't even know that Draco moved.

"How did you know where to find me?" Draco asks.

Weasley shrugs. "I asked Kingsley. He told me."

"I see," Draco says. 

He's not surprised. There would be no reason for Kingsley to keep his home address a secret. Draco hasn't asked him to, and Potter is still Draco's liaison should Robards or Kingsley ever be unavailable. Draco has just ensured that Robards and Kingsley would always be available these past few months.

"Listen, Malfoy, I don't want to be here," Weasley says, crossing his arms and glaring at Draco. "I really can't emphasize how much I don't want to be here."

"Your unwillingness to be in my presence has been noted, Weasley," Draco says. 

Weasley frowns and if they were schoolboys again, Draco might push a bit more. They have always been good at getting on each other's nerves. Something about their personalities clashes in a way made only for bickering. It would almost be fun, Draco thinks, to face off against Weasley in a battle of wits. He thinks, horrified, that they may actually be good friends if either of them cared to try.

"Just tell me if Harry's here or not so I can go," Weasley says. 

"He isn't," Draco answers.

Weasley nods and turns to go. Draco watches him look both ways so that he can cross the street. He watches the way the wind blows Weasley's jacket open, how he has already pulled his wand so that he can Apparate once he's across the street. Draco thinks of Astoria, indoors, telling him that she can't marry Draco because she wants to live before her blood curse takes her. He thinks of Harry and the anger in his eyes the last night Draco saw him, how his expression had morphed from concerned to anger to indignation and finally, right at the end, pitying sadness. 

Weasley steps off the curb and Draco imagines never seeing Harry Potter again. He imagines a life where he convinces Astoria to stay, where they wed and disappear into Europe. A life where Draco gives up being an Auror, gives up trying to do some good with whatever time he has left in the world. A life where he gives up all of the plans he had started to lay out for himself, so that he might live long enough to be happy. All of it, gone, so that he might find some man in another country who he could grow to love, always knowing that Harry Potter would never leave with him.

"Wait," Draco calls out. "Why are you looking for Harry here?"

Weasley stops but doesn't turn around. Draco waits and it feels as though he has been waiting all his life. 

Weasley turns and their eyes meet. "Why do you care?" he asks.

"I don't," Draco says and the answer is so ingrained, it's second nature to say the words.

Weasley opens his mouth and Draco knows he's furious. But a moment passes, and then another, and Weasley keeps looking at Draco. His expression shifts and Draco feels suddenly flayed open. 

"He left. Took some time off in January." Weasley says. "He hasn't been back to work since, but you know Kingsley. Harry could set the entire Ministry on fire and he'd get a thank you letter. He never told Hermione and me where he was going. He asked Kingsley to keep it quiet. But he's been writing, you know. Sends an owl every other day so that we don't worry. Except—"

"Except, you haven't heard from him in a while," Draco finishes for him.

Weasley shrugs. "He's...well, not that it's any of your business, but it isn't like him to run off without getting in touch with us for so long."

"And you came looking for him here?" Draco asks.

"Yeah, well, I tried every other place," Weasley says. "I even went to look for him at Dean's but he wasn't there. And I figured he wouldn't be here, but I had to try anyway, didn't I?"

Draco nods. "I'll come with you," he says.

"Full offence, Malfoy," Weasley answers. "But I don't need your help, and you can't just walk out on your fiancée at this hour."

The accusation is clear in Ron Weasley's voice and Draco knows he'll probably never make things right in Weasley's eyes.

"Astoria will understand," Draco says. "And I didn't mean we'd form a perfect little search party. I only meant that you could use one more person out there."

Weasley looks at Draco standing at the top of his porch steps. There is a searching look on Weasley's face, as though he sees something in Draco that he can't quite identify. Draco expects accusations and dismissal. So there is no way that Draco would ever have been prepared for what Weasley says next.

"You love him," Weasley says, the wonder clear in his voice.

Draco freezes, all of his muscles tensing as though preparing to run. He can't hear past the ringing in his ears, the bone-deep terror that Weasley's words cause. It's so disgustingly predictable of himself to react this way, to want to just disappear without looking back. He's done this so many times over the course of his life. Every opportunity given to him, by Blaise, by Harry, all of the ones that had really mattered, he'd tossed aside because he has always been so very afraid.

Draco has lived for so long with one eye over his shoulder. First with his parents, always on the lookout for how he might disappoint them. Then with the Dark Lord. Draco had filled himself with nothing, closed off any exit for his feelings to protect himself and his parents. When it was over, he had thought that would be it, that he could breathe again. And then, Harry Potter had come into his life and Draco had remembered that there has never been a moment where he wasn't on the verge of running. Just trying to get away so that no one would look too close and see what he was hiding.

He's terrified of this happening, of a person looking at him and knowing all of Draco's deepest secrets. Ron Weasley, who knows nothing of him, has read him so perfectly. If it's that easy then Draco can never be safe. He will always disappoint his parents. He will always be found out, no matter what he does or who he marries, and for tonight, he is so very tired of hiding.

"Tell me where I should go," Draco says.

Weasley shakes his head sadly, but says, "I suppose it wouldn't hurt to have a second pair of eyes."

-

The small cottage in the English countryside sits at the bottom of two green hills overlooking the vast expanse of green from all sides. There's a short, white, wooden fence marking the perimeter of the property and in between the tufts of weeds growing up the fence, are small, yellow buds. Past the fence and around the pebble walkway are uneven mounds of grass, and behind the small cottage is an attempt at a garden. There, the grass has been cleared away to make way for a dirt patch surrounded by wire. Inside the wire protection, rows of green leaves and vines twist low to the ground. Around them, small chickens peck at what they can reach through the holes in the wire fence. 

Draco sees all of this from the top of a neighbouring hill and despite the thumping of his heart, he knows he can't stay and watch much longer. The house will be empty because that's the only thing that can explain the signs of disarray. There must be enchantments in place to warn Harry of incoming presences, and Draco doesn't doubt that he'll find nothing if Harry doesn't want to be found.

He takes a deep breath of the wet countryside air, the smell of grass and dirt suffused with the smells of nearby animals. There is nothing left but to go forward, to hope that his search has not been in vain. He hopes that despite the things that have happened between them, Harry will open the door when Draco knocks. 

Draco heads down the small hill and the closer he gets to the little cottage, the more signs of life he sees. There are footprints on the dirt road that leads up to the white fence surrounding the cottage. Nearer the pebble walkway, there is a single town newspaper with today's date on it. Draco picks it up and sees the headline is about the power outage in the little town, a few miles from the cottage.

He pushes past the white fence and for a moment, he feels the cold wash of a revealing spell. It crawls up his back and neck and Draco shudders even though the afternoon is warm. He keeps going, notices the uneven grass and the places where it looks like someone has attempted to tame it. Everywhere he looks, there are signs of half-attempted jobs, half-filled chicken feeders, and a half-swept front porch. The swing at the front deck looks as though it has been recently cleaned, even though there is dirt on the rest of the ground, and the handrail of the porch steps stains Draco's hands when he touches it.

This is where Harry Potter is staying. Draco had not come until he had been sure, until he had gone over all the places Kingsley owned. He had looked for a solid week until he had found out about Kingsley's partner. This cottage was in his name, an inheritance from a Muggle aunt to her Muggle nephew, not anything that was going to be in Ministry records. Draco had the time that Weasley didn't have to spare, and he tells himself that he's here because there must be something wrong if Weasley had looked to Draco for help.

It's nerves, Draco thinks, that keeps him rooted to the spot at the foot of the stairs. He doesn't know what his reception will be and he doesn't trust himself even now. Especially not now that he has been released from the only thing that had kept him safe. He owes Astoria nothing and she owes him even less, and Harry Potter has always been in Draco's mind in some way. Impossible that he wouldn't be. Impossible that Draco could forget all the things they have done, that he could erase Weasley's wonder and the words he'd said the night he came to see Draco.

There is nothing left for Draco to do except climb the last of the steps and knock on the door. He waits as the country air blows across the front porch and the windchime jingles its high, clear notes. Draco imagines being invited here, allowing himself to accept that invitation, to come as Draco and be allowed to complain about the smells and the way the wet dirt chills Draco's boots. He can picture himself sitting on this porch, hidden away from eyes for miles around, just letting go and being himself. Impossible to be free, but wanting to.

Draco knocks again and from inside he can hear the distinct scrape of a chair across a tiled floor. There is silence for a moment and then the top lock on the door clicks open, the second. Draco can feel his pulse at the side of his neck. There's a tightness in his chest that makes it harder for the air to leave Draco's lungs. He's almost dizzy when the door finally swings open and Draco lets his eyes fall on Harry for the first time in more than three months.

*

Harry considers throwing away his medication in the last week of February. He still has a good two weeks worth, but he can't stand looking at the little white pill in the see-through orange bottle. He sees his name on the label, the name of his psychiatrist, the dosage, the frequency. It's all so clinical and sterile, out of place with the little cottage he's in. The air around the countryside and even the chickens in his backyard don't fit with the truth of his medications.

He takes them but he doesn't need them. It has been hard enough remembering to take them since he stole away to this cottage in Cheshire. If it hadn't been for the letters he keeps sending Ron and Hemione, and the little reminder at the bottom of the ones they send him, he would have stopped weeks ago. He has been feeling better ever since he took this time away. There's something good about the country and being away from prying eyes, from Prophet reporters who keep asking when the Chosen One is finally going to show what he's made of.

Harry doesn't care about the press. He doesn't. But he cares about the in-between, the hints that he might not be doing enough. Especially now that he has taken so much time off. He knows if he were anyone else, Kingsley wouldn't allow it, and it just feeds into the guilt Harry's already feeling for not telling Ron and Hermione where he is. It's that maybe there is more he can be doing, that perhaps he has missed something in between the stacks of old case files they keep giving him at the Ministry. Perhaps his talents are wasted there when he should be out on more missions. The Prophet doesn't matter, but what his friends might think and what Kingsley might think does. Harry has never wanted to let anyone down.

He tells himself that he has to pull it together, that cosy or not, the cottage in the countryside can't be his life for long. He takes his pills and gets to work cleaning everything up. He sets days and starts in the small bedroom upstairs where he's tossed all of his dirty clothes in a pile. His trunk is shoved to the corner of the room, opposite the door, its top open and all its contents spread out over the bedroom. 

But that gets tiring much too soon. There's just so much and nowhere for Harry to start. He picks up his dirty clothes and has nowhere to put them. He grabs his old school books and places them at the bottom of the trunk. When he turns there is more mess around him from the things he has had to pull out of his trunk. He tries making his bed, but the sheets he finds are too small and the top sheet doesn't tuck all the way beneath the mattress.

Harry remembers that Dr Griffith used to say that he didn't have to finish everything at once, that small steps were as good as the bigger ones. Harry leaves his bedroom and heads downstairs, rips one of his old t-shirts into rags and cleans the stair railing. In the end, the railing is shining, but nothing else is clean. Harry tosses the rags on the stairs, heads out to the front yard and the wild grass that's gotten up to mid-calf. He tries a spell but it feels artificial. So he pulls out the hand mower from the shed in the back and tries to mow the grass. But the old mower doesn't do well in the long grass and Harry only gets part of it down before he quits that too. 

The chickens in the backyard near his carrot and beets are from the neighbouring houses, only the bravest that strayed too far from their own backyards and decided to stay with Harry. When Harry had seen that he had started amassing chickens, he had gone into the town and had bought them feed. Filling their food and water areas are the only things he doesn't forget to do. He's on his way to check on them when someone trips the revealing spells around his gate.

Harry doubles back through the kitchen, his wand out. There's only one person moving past the borders of the house, and Harry knows it's probably Kingsley who's dropped by before. He waits, waiting to see if Kingsley will call out, but there's nothing. Harry moves a kitchen chair aside when he hears the second knock. He walks down the narrow hallway, past the stairs leading upstairs, and to the front door. He thinks of the Muggles in the cottages scattered over the hills. If anything, Harry figures, he can put up a good fight. 

What he isn't prepared for, however, is opening the door and seeing Draco Malfoy standing against the setting sun. Harry lowers his wand without thinking, his eyes drinking in Draco and his blond hair, the slope of his nose, and his grey eyes. Draco looks good, calmer than Harry has ever seen him. His full attention is on Harry, no lingering look over his shoulder, no tension as Harry looks back at him.

Marriage, Harry supposes, will do that to someone. No reason to worry about what this might look like anymore.

"What are you doing here?" Harry asks and he's surprised by the raspiness in his voice. 

It has been a while since he talked to anyone for extended periods of time, and just as he realises that, he remembers the half-cleaned messes all over the cottage. He hasn't finished the dishes and he's run out of cups. 

"Your friends are looking for you," Draco says.

Even the way Draco speaks is different. It's as though Draco has been spending time with Slytherins again. His pronunciation is stiffer, more correct and refined sounding. His clothes are pressed and in the same severe style Lucius Malfoy is fond of wearing. He's all sharp edges. 

Harry thinks back to the night Draco had stayed, how he had woken with his hair flattened on one side of his head and a slow warm smile. There had been no cutting edges then, just an open warmth that Harry had bet on and lost.

"How's your wife?" Harry asks. 

Harry watches as Draco looks away and Harry imagines closing the distance between them. He can almost feel Draco's hands on him, how warm he would be when Harry touched him. They haven't seen each other in so long, Harry had forgotten how soft Draco looked in the sunlight. He lets himself look his fill as Draco pulls himself together. Harry feels his hands shaking as he closes them into fists to stop himself from reaching out. Draco is so close, Harry can smell the faint citrus from his body wash.

"I'm not married," Draco says.

He's still not looking at Harry. "Engaged then," Harry says. 

Harry's not angry anymore. He had worked that out in the garden behind the house when he'd first gotten here. He had cut down the weeds and mowed the grass, fixed the pebbled driveway. Harry had spent the first month of his isolation deep in anything that would tire him out and allow him to sleep. 

Now, he looks at Draco and all he feels is an infinite sadness for things he might have had. He thinks of Draco at the breakfast table, that moment of complete understanding between them. They share more than they give each other credit for, and Harry yearns for what they might have done together. He misses the way Draco sounds when Harry gets his hands in that blond hair, the way Draco will push and push until Harry comes apart. 

They could have been so good together and that is what hurts the most.

"You should call your friends," Draco says, looking back at Harry. "They're worried about you."

"Okay," Harry says because even he knows better than to cut himself open on the same rock. 

Draco nods, his eyes on the floor again. Harry nods in return and steps back into the safety of his cottage. He needs to remember to clean the handrails outside. 

"Goodbye, Draco," Harry says, closing his front door.

*

Draco is well down the dirt road leading away from Harry's cottage when he stops walking. The sun has set behind the nearest hill, leaving the vast expanse of green in shadow, the fading light painting the sky in yellows, orange, and blue. He stands at the edge of the dirt road, his hands smudged with dirt from Harry's handrails. He thinks of Harry with his tired green eyes and his messy brown hair. He looked good, flawless brown skin, and a healthy amount of stubble. But Draco can't help but think of the bags under Harry's eyes, the way he kept glancing over Draco's shoulder as though he were afraid that someone was coming. 

He had reminded Draco of himself, and the pain of seeing that same lost look on Harry is enough to stop Draco in the middle Cheshire. He doesn't want to just send a message to Weasley and Granger. Astoria can't marry him and Draco is so tired of running. He's tired of the fear that crawls like poison into his veins, that simmering rage that exhausts him, as though every time he tries to fight, he loses a little bit of himself. He's tired of the looks Lucius gives him, that dismissal, the passing disgust, the satisfaction whenever Draco is with Astoria. He hates the careful looks his mother sends his way because she has tried to read him and gotten it wrong. Draco is tired of putting wall after wall before what he really wants, tired of tamping down feelings, of making Harry Potter look like he's been cut down to the bone.

It's exhausting.

Draco doesn't know what that means for the rest of his life, doesn't want to think about it now because Harry's so close. All Draco has to do is go back. One step at a time, like Blaise had said. It doesn't have to mean anything more than Draco wants it to, doesn't have to mean more than this one day.

He turns and he can just make out the chimney of Harry's cottage over the hill in the distance. Draco thinks of his mother and father, of how easy it had been to give in to what they wanted. How miserable he had been when he saw his wedding invitations, how Astoria had looked him in the eyes and said they both deserved better.

He runs before he can think too hard about it, heads for the distant chimney and the little, white fence. Draco jumps over the wooden fence, his boots digging into the pebbled walkway. He heads for the front porch and bangs on the door of the cottage. He's being ridiculous, his heart pounding in his chest as he thinks of what he'll say when Harry opens the door.

Draco bangs on the door again and tries not to think about what he'll do if Harry doesn't open the door. He almost goes, takes the step backwards before he hears the clicking of locks coming undone. Then there's Harry Potter's beautifully confused face, his messy hair and bright green eyes. He's a little messy, his white t-shirt half-tucked into one of his jean pockets. Draco takes a step forward, but Harry doesn't move out of the way. They're close enough for Draco to think he can just lean forward and touch Harry.

"Draco," Harry says.

Draco's hands are shaking with the effort to keep them at his sides. He does his best to keep his eyes on Harry's, to forget about the distance between them. Harry opens his mouth, doesn't say anything, and Draco looks down at his lips almost helplessly.

"Why are you here?" Harry asks, taking a step backwards.

Draco looks up and sees the apprehension in Harry's eyes, and everything is out of control, and nothing makes sense. Draco doesn't know what to do, or where this will go, or whether he has anything left to offer Harry. He thinks of the Christmas Ball at Malfoy Manor, the way Harry had come to see him, how worried he'd been. Draco has done things he will forever regret, but he can't bring himself to regret coming back.

"Astoria called off our engagement," Draco says, breathless. 

Harry frowns and Draco doesn't know where they go from here.

*

Harry knows himself, knows that if he lets Draco into his home, he'll never let him leave. He knows that nothing has changed really since the last time they were together. Draco not marrying Astoria doesn't mean he won't marry somebody else if his father presses hard enough. Harry knows better than this, but he also knows that it has been so long since he let himself have just one thing he wanted. 

He looks at Draco, at how hard he's breathing, how close he is. Draco's hair has come undone from its slicked-back style. He looks almost like Harry remembers him, the rough edges beginning to fade. 

"What do you want?" Harry asks. 

He can see Draco working hard to stop his hands from shaking. 

"I want…" Draco says, his eyes dropping to Harry's mouth. "I want to kiss you."

Harry shakes his head. "No," he says. "What do you want?"

Draco looks back up. His hand makes an aborted movement forward, but he stops just before he grabs Harry's t-shirt. Harry looks down at Draco's hands, at his long fingers and the way they curl around air. Draco's breathing hard, his voice rough when he finally speaks.

"I want you," he says. 

Harry takes a step back into the cottage, leaves the front door open, lets Draco decide what they're going to do next. 

"If you want me," Harry says, "then come get me."

*

Draco steps into Harry's cottage, kicks the door shut behind him, and then, finally, gets his hands in Harry's hair. He pushes until he has Harry backed up against the hallway wall, until Draco can get his mouth on Harry. Draco's hands are shaking so he presses closer, traps Harry's hands between them, kisses him harder. Harry lets Draco reach for him, lets their mouths crash together almost painfully. Then he pushes until Draco leans back, until Harry can move his hands around Draco's shoulders. He pulls and Draco lets himself get pulled closer, lets Harry get his mouth on the side of Draco's neck.

"Slow down," Harry says into Draco's mouth.

Draco shudders and lets Harry slow them down. They kiss, one of Harry's hands holding Draco close while the other pulls at Draco's shirt. Harry tugs until he pulls Draco's shirt from his trousers, brings his hand back into Draco's hair, and pulls. Draco exhales shakily between them, enjoying the way Harry Potter feels in his arms, the way he seems to be trying to pull Draco apart.

Harry pulls away to breathe and Draco feels himself sway forward, all of himself focused on getting his mouth back on Harry. But Harry puts his hands on Draco's chest and shoves him away gently. Draco looks down between them, not quite understanding what's happening. Harry takes the chance to duck away, out of Draco's reach.

Draco turns and watches Harry back away to the other side of the hallway, right by the stairs. Harry doesn't say anything and Draco can't help himself. He reaches forward, all of his attention centred on Harry. He thinks about having Harry beneath him, of Harry, laid out on a bed, all of him wrapped around Draco.

"Come upstairs," Harry says.

He turns and Draco follows. He feels enchanted, every inch of himself focused on Harry in front of him. He can feel the tightness in his chest, that faint thrill of desire that runs up his spine as he thinks of Harry laid out on a bed, his back against Draco's chest. How good it'll feel once they're naked and panting, how much Draco wants this, but how long he's willing to wait. He wants Harry desperate and willing, wants to go so slow they both can't take it.

Harry stops in front of what Draco assumes is his bedroom, but Draco keeps going, presses himself against Harry's back. He gets his hands around Harry's belt, kisses the back of his neck, lets Harry feel how much Draco wants him.

Harry reaches down to help Draco tug off his belt, then turns and gets his hand on Draco's pants. Draco backs Harry into the room, straight to the bed. Harry pushes Draco back to give them both room to pull their clothes off. Draco shrugs off his coat, starts at the buttons on his shirt as Harry pushes down his pants and underwear. When he's done, Harry gets on the bed, pulls off his glasses and puts them on the bedside table. He's reaching into the drawer to pull out what they'll need, has barely made it back to the centre of the bed before Draco climbs on and presses him down into the sheets.

Harry wraps his legs around Draco and Draco gets his hands under Harry, on his shoulders. Draco buries his head in Harry's neck, pushes down so he can feel Harry's cock against his. He hears Harry's soft groans against his ear, leans up and rubs his face against the stubble on Harry's face. 

"I want you," Draco says. 

He doesn't know what to do with himself, with the barely contained pressure at the centre of his chest. He wants to just push against Harry until they merge into one, until he gets lost in the heat of their bodies. 

Harry reaches up, pushes Draco's hair away from his face and kisses him softly. He pushes up and Draco leans back, lets Harry press him down into the sheets. Draco's trembling, but Harry leans down and kisses him. He goes so slow, so soft it almost feels like they're just breathing together. Harry's hands work up Draco's chest, down his arms. He grabs Draco's wrist and presses them down into the sheets until Draco uncurls his fists.

"Stay," Harry says into the space between their mouths.

Draco inhales shakily and waits, his eyes on the white ceiling. He closes his eyes as Harry kisses down his chest. 

"Breathe," Harry says and Draco hadn't even noticed when he stopped.

He inhales just as Harry gets his hand on Draco's cock. Draco's exhale is a low moan as he feels Harry's tongue, the pressure from Harry's mouth, the smooth, wet slide. It's too much almost immediately, wet heat and building pleasure, and Draco has to see. He pushes up on his elbows and Harry looks up, his mouth full of Draco, his eyes half-closed with pleasure.

"Fuck," Draco says softly, throws his head back when Harry sucks harder. 

Draco can feel pleasure crawling up his spine, the pooling of warmth in his lower belly. He reaches down to get his hand in Harry's hair, down his face. They look at each other and Draco's mouth drops open. 

"Come here," he says.

Harry pulls off, Draco sits up, and they reach for each other as Harry gets his knees around Draco's hips. Draco reaches next to him blindly as Harry kisses him, gets his hand around the bottle of lube. Harry works at Draco's mouth, his hands hard on Draco's hair, all of him concentrated on bringing Draco apart. Draco pulls away, gets his mouth on Harry's neck, his wet hand around Harry's cock, lets himself feel the weight and length, just enough pressure that Harry's groans are long and drawn out. Draco wants to make this messy and fast, to just push through the desperation until he can come out on the other side. They'll go again, take their time, do this right.

"Come on," Harry says, his green eyes bright as he looks down at Draco's hand between them. "I want you to fuck me."

Draco kisses up Harry's neck, bites down on the side of his neck, and says, "Yes."

It's easier with Harry on his knees, with Harry's head down on the bed between his arms, with the sounds of their low groans in the air between them. Draco's fingers wet from the lube, slipping down between Harry. It's all so wet, the slide slick when Draco works a finger into Harry. He hears the soft sigh as he works Harry open, as he stops to let Harry adjust. When he sees Harry's shoulders go lax, when Harry's almost panting beneath him, Draco pulls back, adds more lube and pushes two fingers in.

He's careful, stretches slowly, imagines himself pushing his cock in between Harry's legs. He curls his fingers and pushes, mirrors Harry's groan. He works Harry open, adds a third finger, waits until he can't hold it anymore. Then Draco waits a little longer, until Harry's shaking beneath him, until Harry says, "yes," and "more," and "please."

Draco lines himself up and pushes in, slowly, so slowly it almost hurts. He pauses when he's all the way in, his forehead on the back of Harry's neck. They stay still a moment as Harry adjusts and Draco shakes above him. Draco has missed this, the burning heat between their bodies, the way it feels to be wanted, to let himself get carried away with Harry Potter. Draco has wanted this for the past three months, has needed to feel Harry beneath him, to feel how he fits against Draco. 

It's almost too much after so long and it feels like a relief to have Harry's quiet "come on" as Draco pulls out, the short punched-out gasp when Draco pushes back in. Draco closes his eyes and lets himself feel the pleasure building between them, the way Harry starts pushing back. He bites down on Harry's shoulder, pushes deeper, harder, until they collapse on the bed, Harry beneath Draco as Draco keeps pushing. No finesse in this because it has been so long and Draco just wants to come.

But Harry notices because he says, "wait," and Draco pulls back, pulls away. Harry turns around and reaches for him, kisses him, murmurs comfortingly. He pushes until Draco lets go, until Draco is laid out on the bed and Harry's above him. And that's better. It's better when Draco's hands are fisted in the sheets and Harry is guiding Draco's cock back inside him. Better when Draco reaches up to get a hold of Harry's cock, when Harry bends forward, his mouth by Draco's ear. The pleasure starts to build low in Draco's belly, punctuated by the words Harry's murmuring in Draco's ear, soft eager instructions for how he wants Draco to touch him.

Draco trusts that Harry will know what to do, that he can get lost in sensation and heat. He plants his feet on the bed, gives Harry better leverage and it's good, it's so good Draco wants to imprint Harry on his skin until it's all he can feel. Until the heat low in his belly moves upwards and Draco groans as he comes. 

Harry pulls off and Draco turns to his side, his hand on Harry's cock, slow and tight. 

Draco leans forward, gets his mouth on the spot behind Harry's ear, says, "Come on, I have you, please." 

He hears Harry's low groan, the contented sighs. Draco suddenly wants to make this last, make it good. He leans back just enough to get his mouth on Harry, the kisses soft and easy. Draco hasn't had the time to find out all the ways that Harry can kiss, how he goes easy and pliant when Draco kisses him as he moves his hand up and down Harry's cock. It's a slow build, almost lazy now, Draco changing the angle until Harry's breath goes fast against Draco's neck. Draco pulls back further until he can look Harry in the eyes, watch the way his mouth drops open as he chases his orgasm. How Harry says Draco's name, how his fingers tighten on Draco's arm until he's pushing forward and coming between them. 

They stay together a moment, Harry pressed against Draco's side. When Draco can bring himself to look, he meets a bright green stare that is too knowing. It's so easy to fall back on easy outs, on the idea of leaving and never coming back. But Draco has exhausted his escapes and he's so tired of running. 

"I love you," Harry says.

In the silence, the words are monstrous, like long evening shadows that seem to cover the whole room. Draco doesn't know what to do with the enormity of that feeling, how to best explain to Harry what he has never been able to successfully explain to himself. How there are things Draco has deep within him that don't let him breathe sometimes. He wants to crawl into himself and never come back out, never having to carry the responsibility of Harry's feelings because Draco has never learned how to not hurt the people he cares about. 

Draco is just so tired of being afraid, and here he is in Harry Potter's bed, and he hasn't felt this complete in a long time, despite the lingering terror. There is something right in this moment, something that slots into place in a way that even Astoria, in all her empathetic understanding, could never make right. Something that Draco has been chasing ever since Blaise Zabini kissed him after the Yule Ball. A moment of crystal clear acceptance and understanding, a moment where Draco can finally say to himself that he's gay and he might be in love with Harry Potter.


	15. A Pause Before Spring

"What are we?" Harry asks.

It's a fair question, posed to Draco in the silence of the bedroom. Outside the sun has set, casting the sky into darkening shades of blue. Indoors, underneath the dark red sheets, Draco lays down next to Harry, both of them on their backs, staring at the plain white ceiling. Draco can feel the heat of Harry down his side and they could be back in Harry's flat, waking up on the morning of November 1st. 

Harry turns on his side and Draco can feel Harry's eyes on the side of his face. The question posed hangs between them. Draco searches for the need to be gone, to start running and never look back. He thinks of how something has settled deep within him, not necessarily a burden removed, but lightened. 

He finds that he wants to tell the truth.

"I don't know," Draco whispers into the silence of the room. 

He turns until he's looking at Harry, face to face with nothing between them. Harry has laid himself open again and Draco finds that what he wants more than anything, is to be somehow worthy of the love Harry Potter is trying to give him. Draco doesn't want to hurt him, doesn't know yet how he'll make that the truth. But he also knows that moments with Harry are the only things that feel real, that feel whole, that feel right. 

"I don't know," Draco says again. "But I want this to be something."

Harry's smile is brilliant in the shadows of the room and Draco doesn't know what it's about himself that makes this happen. He can't begin to piece together the reason Harry might have for loving him. He has nothing to offer, no sense of security, no promises that this will be forever. All Draco has is himself, damaged and broken, with scars that haven't begun to heal and new ones that he hasn't fully explored yet. 

Draco is the beggar here. He's the one who has to prove something, who has to work every day to be worthy of this thing between them. The silence of the night and the welcomed heat of Harry's hands on Draco's arms. He can't promise anything and he needs Harry to understand this, to know it and to keep wanting Draco anyway. 

"I don't...that is to say," Draco says. "Astoria and I are still living together. She...she needs me, as a friend, as someone who can understand her. I don't...I can't tell you why."

Draco cuts himself off before he makes a bigger mess of things. He can see Harry's confusion and the fear that Harry might kick him out is a new, terrifying thing. That Draco can lose so much so suddenly is one of the reasons he never wanted this. To give someone this kind of power over him reminds him too much of the scars on his left forearm where the Dark Mark has faded. It's the same kind of fear, the wild plunge into the unknown, but instead of death, there is heartache at the end. Draco had sworn that he wouldn't ever let his life get so out of control again, that he would protect himself so that he could keep his family safe. 

"I get it," Harry says. "It's okay."

There is no assurance that Harry really understands. But Harry Potter looks at Draco across the bed and there is absolute certainty in his eyes. And this is when Draco decides that he'll do everything he can to make sure Harry never regrets this choice.

*

Harry wakes up before Draco. They forgot to close the blinds the night before and the rising sun sneaks in through the open windows to light up the room. Harry takes his time getting up, lets himself enjoy the grounding feeling of a body next to him in the morning. He can tell that Draco will have pillow marks on his face when he finally wakes. The idea of Draco coming down to breakfast, sleep rumpled and gorgeous, makes Harry want to wake him.

Instead, Harry dresses and heads downstairs. He picks up the rags he threw on the stairs the day before and heads into the back of the house to the kitchen. In the light of the morning and with Draco upstairs, the mess is much worse than Harry remembers. The kitchen table has stains from when Harry spilt his tea the week before and there are various boxes of cereals stacked all over the counters. Harry's plates and pots are piled high in the kitchen sink. The cups and spoons fit in the spaces leftover so that Harry has to manoeuvre his hand through the maze of dishes to get to the sponge at the bottom. 

He considers hand washing everything before him, thinks of how long it'll take, how much he still has left to do. He pulls out his wand, casts a cleaning charm, and steps back as the dishes start washing themselves. Harry feels like he's cheating, inexplicable guilt catching him off guard for a moment. It'll pass, Harry knows, the same way the discomfort of not cleaning has passed. It's long ingrained survival skills, knowing that to keep things clean was to avoid punishment. 

Harry puts the cereals back into the cupboards, distracts himself by counting out how many antidepressants he has left. He'll stay another week, just enough time to clean up whatever else he hasn't gotten to. When he gets to the stack of letters on the kitchen table, Harry remembers that he has to write to Ron and Hermione. He tries to remember how long it's been and can't quite remember the last time he wrote to them. 

Harry sends a Patronus letting them know he's okay, that he's with Draco, that he doesn't need anyone else to come to check on him and that he'll write to them later. Then Harry takes his morning meds and puts the bottles back, tries to breathe through the spike of panic at not remembering. This is normal, he tells himself. Dr Griffith had spoken of how it might be difficult to remember things in moments of high stress. He had said that it was normal that most of Harry's memories from the war are a haze of emotions, nothing too concrete unless he purposefully grabs a memory and pulls it forward.

Harry prefers not remembering unless he has to. The war is over and Harry's doing his best to be someone after the war, to not let the anxiety and the sadness slip through the medication. He wants what comes after, wants Draco Malfoy in his bedroom and clean dishes in his sink. He's willing to go through the mess, to be inconvenienced if it means that Draco will choose him too.

The months away have helped Harry centre himself. He has learned things about himself that he hadn't wanted to touch before. Having nothing to do but be with himself has been healing and also slightly disastrous. But Draco's here now and Harry finds that he wants to be okay again. He wants to start running in the mornings again, wants to go back to his flat and fall into his own bed, to have Draco kiss him awake. 

"It's complicated," Draco had said.

But he hadn't run away when Harry told him he loved him. Draco had stayed despite the obvious terror on his face. Even if Harry has to be brave for both of them, he wants to do this. So, he crosses to the back door and out into the chicken coop, fills the feeder and the water dish. He has five hens, two spotted ones and three beautiful reddish-brown ones. They cluck when they see him, their heads bobbing back and forth as they come to explore what Harry has left them. Harry stays a moment, gets distracted when he thinks of leaving and what he'll do with the hens. 

He's still worrying over them when he gets back into the kitchen and sees Draco coming in from the hall. Harry was right and he doesn't hide his affectionate smile as he looks at Draco's hastily flattened hair and the pillow creases on his face. Draco catches Harry looking and for a second, he looks away, fear and worry in his expression. Harry feels a beat of panic, a second's hesitation where he's afraid Draco is going to take everything back.

Then Draco looks up and his smile is more of a half-smirk, but he sounds sure when he says, "You look good in the mornings."

Harry bites his lip to stop his grin and says, "So do you."

Draco inhales shakily and Harry could almost count with him the seconds Draco holds his breath before he exhales. It's a reminder that they have to talk about this, that there are things Harry hasn't told Draco. Important things like how Harry sees Dr Griffith and a rotating group of psychiatrists. Things like that Harry needs to take two different types of medication so that he can function like the rest of the world. Harry looks at Draco and the space between them seems so much larger than Harry remembers from last night. It could be the new morning, could be the revelation that they're nowhere near anything solid existing between them. 

"We need to talk," Harry says.

"I'm not leaving," Draco says at the same time.

Draco looks as though he regrets his words almost as soon as he's said them, and Harry wishes there was a way to take everything that has hurt Draco Malfoy and make it disappear. It's childish and futile to think so, but Harry wishes it all the same. Anything to make the fear that has always laid underneath everything Draco did vanish. 

"I…" Draco says. "Unless you would prefer that I leave."

"No," Harry says, crossing the kitchen to take Draco's hand in his. "No, I'm okay with you staying. I just meant we should talk."

"Right," Draco says, nodding. "Okay, let's talk."

-

The gist of it is this, Harry has not known how much Draco is holding back until they sit down and talk. It's as though once Draco has been giving permission to speak, he can't stop. He tells Harry about the conversation with Lucius after the Christmas Ball at Malfoy Manor, about Astoria and how she had provided an answer. Harry listens to the way Draco describes Astoria, how he can't seem to stop trying to excuse himself for accepting to marry her, how he tries to make it make sense that he would have married her and been miserable forever. Harry hears Draco's attempts at reconciling an impossible situation and can't help himself.

"It isn't fair that you felt you had to marry her," Harry says.

He watches as Draco's jaw works hard, how Draco's eyes fix over a spot above Harry's shoulder. He's trying to pull himself together and Harry makes the mistake of reaching across the table. He means only to offer comfort, but Draco's hand twitches as if to pull away. Harry pulls back, reminds himself to go slower.

"Sorry," Draco says and this time, he's the one to extend his hand until the tips of two fingers touch Harry's knuckles. 

Harry lays his hand flat on the table and they're not holding hands exactly, but Harry thinks Draco understands.

"Astoria knows about me," Draco continues, looking at how his fingers shake where they touch Harry. "She understands me. She wouldn't have pushed."

Harry doesn't know how Astoria could possibly understand, but he won't hold it against her. The more Draco talks, the more it seems as though Astoria has been the brightest spot in Draco's life since December.

Draco mentions Pansy and Blaise and Harry finds himself attune to the nuances in Draco's descriptions, to how long he lingers on Blaise. Harry doesn't want to ask, but he can't help remembering his own conversation with Blaise and Pansy when Draco went to Hungary. How beautiful Blaise is, flawless skin and calculating, brown eyes. He's sharply intelligent and casually dismissive, and it has never been hard to imagine why Draco might have gone for that. Blaise is also a Slytherin, a pureblood, with refined tastes and money to toss around. He knows where Draco comes from, what Draco needs, definitely how to be discreet if he and Draco had managed to sneak around for so long at Hogwarts.

"You're not listening," Draco says. 

They're still almost holding hands when Harry looks up. There's amusement behind Draco's grey eyes, a soft smile playing at the corner of his mouth. Harry wants to lean over and kiss him.

"I'm sorry," Harry says, instead. "I got distracted."

He regrets the choice of words immediately, but Draco still, miraculously, looks as though he's trying not to smile. 

"You know," Draco says, taking on the same, high class, dismissive tone Harry has heard Blaise use. "I was speaking to Blaise the other day."

"Oh?" Harry says and he knows he's been found out when Draco smiles.

It's envy more than jealousy what Harry feels when he thinks of Blaise Zabini. It's that Blaise knows Draco, that despite whatever hangups Draco has, he trusted Blaise enough with himself to be with him for years. Blaise is still around, still holds parts of Draco that he can use against him if he ever wanted to. Draco knows that, and still, Blaise is around.

"Blaise was important to you," Harry says, not knowing how else to make it make sense. 

Draco nods. "So tell me about who was important to you," he says. 

Harry tells him about Ginny, about Quidditch practice with her during sixth year, how confident and funny she had been once she was dating Dean. Harry tells Draco about the walks around the lake, how Ginny has always smelled faintly of flowers, how for a long time during the war, Harry had found thoughts of her comforting. Ginny is brave and understanding, and what they had will always be an important part of Harry's life. 

It's easy to keep talking, the last of the dishes clinking in the background as they finish washing themselves. Harry tells Draco about Ron and Hermione, how things had changed after the war, how Ron always knows when something is wrong. Harry shies away from Dr Griffith and the pills, but he tells Draco about not knowing what to do after Voldemort died. 

"I felt like the world ended and everyone else just moved on," Harry says. "But I got stuck reliving it all, without anything to make it better. It got like that this time too. Just too much in my head and not enough space. I would have talked to Ron and Hermione about it, but," Harry half-laughs, "well, they're well-adjusted."

"Yes," Draco says, the scepticism clear in his voice. "Weasley seems like a prime example of put together."

Harry laughs and Draco turns his hand, slides his fingers under Harry's palm.

"Can I kiss you?" Draco asks and the hope in his voice makes Harry grin wide.

"Please," Harry says. 

Draco leans towards Harry and presses a kiss to the corner of Harry's mouth.

-

The next morning, Harry wakes up to an empty bed and he isn't surprised that his first thought is that Draco has left. He knows it'll be a while before he thinks differently, but it bodes well for them that Harry's also not surprised to find Draco in the kitchen. He isn't cooking breakfast, but he has pulled out bowls, spoons, and milk. Harry sees the cereal boxes and he feels his blood run cold before he remembers that his pills are in the other cupboard. That there is no reason for Draco to see them because all the plates are still drying by the sink.

They have breakfast together and Draco complains about the milk and the flavour of cereal. He starts on the weather next, how he went to see the chicken coop and the wet dirt stuck to the bottom of his boots. Harry eats his cereal, trying not to laugh, until Draco notices and rolls his eyes. It's such a pleasantly normal morning and Draco wants to go for a walk after breakfast, so Harry skips his morning pill. He tells himself that he'll take it once they get back.

They go for a walk down the countryside, keeping to the areas where there are fewer houses. The sun is bright and Harry can feel the beginnings of spring in the buds on the trees and the warm breeze. It smells like wet dirt, and silence in the hills around them makes Harry feel as though he can breathe freely. He turns grinning to Draco.

"We could play Quidditch here," Harry says.

"We have no brooms," Draco answers.

The day is bright and Harry can feel happiness bubbling deep in his chest. He imagines Draco on a broom again, his blond hair streaming out behind him, the confidence with which he sat 

"You've always looked good on a broom," Harry says. "I like that you're a good Quidditch player."

They're at the top of the hill right before the cottage and Draco is in the sunlight wearing Harry's clothes. 

"You look good in red," Harry says, can't help himself. "I like you in my clothes."

Draco laughs then, a carefree sound that Harry hasn't heard from him before. On top of the hill, with the rolling green fields stretching out before them, Draco leans over and kisses Harry. They're mid-laughter so the kiss breaks off early and they stand atop the hill with their arms around each other. Draco tucks his head into Harry's shoulder and Harry inhales the faint, Irish Spring scent Draco must have used this morning. 

There's warm heat pooling low in Harry's belly, warm contentment as Draco's hands run up Harry's back. Harry's very aware of Draco's mouth near his neck. They've been in this position before and Harry's body knows where this goes. 

"Let's go back," Harry says.

Draco turns his head. "Why?" he asks. "It's nice here."

Harry considers heading down to the cottage and getting Draco down on one of the armchairs in the sitting room, of crawling in there with Draco. Of their mouths going numb as they kiss. Nothing more than that, just Draco's mouth on Harry's until they can't take it anymore. Or they could stay on the hill, Harry feeling Draco's breath against his neck, letting himself really feel the warm buzz of desire. 

"We should go out into town," Harry says. 

He imagines Draco in Muggle clothing, in some of Harry's jeans and his shirts, the way he would look in the evening lights. They could Apparate to London, later in the week, find the club Dean was fond of. Somewhere safe, where Harry could let the beat of the music thrum through his body as he danced with Draco against him. Harry wants to be able to tell someone that he and Draco are together, where people can see even if it won't make much difference in the morning.

"You have to write to your friends," Draco says. 

Harry knows Draco's right. Harry's doing it again, filling all the empty spaces with something, with Draco and the idea of being with Draco. If he stopped for a moment, he would know it isn't right to have sent Ron and Hermione the Patronus and not written to them or gone to see them. They're worth more than half-answers and Harry hiding away in Cheshire where no one knows him. He has to go back to work. He has to go back to the people who matter to him.

He looks at Draco, standing in the afternoon light, his white-blond hair loose around his face. Draco has been different since he knocked on Harry's door the second time. It's noticeable in the way he walks, the loosening of his shoulders and the affectionate touches. They held hands over the kitchen table. Draco has kissed Harry more over the course of the last twenty-four hours than he has over the last year. 

"I can go," Draco says. "If you want to talk to Granger and Weasley. Or we can go back to London."

"Yeah," Harry nods, pulling away. "I think we should go back to London."

*

Harry sends an owl to Ron and Hermione when he and Draco get back from their walk. After, Harry pushes Draco down on the sofa in the sitting room and kisses him until Harry can feel Draco's mouth on every part of him. He memorizes the silky smoothness of Draco's hair, the very obvious signs that Draco has been taken care of all his life, the unblemished pale skin, his uncalloused hands. In between kisses, with Draco bearing down on him, Harry listens to Draco's soft whispers against Harry's ear. Even the way Draco talks speaks to the purebloods who raised him, and Harry doesn't know if it's that he hasn't heard Draco talk in months, or if he never noticed. 

It matters now, though. Harry feels the slight change in accent, the differing inflexions, that exact pronunciation, as a personal affront. He likes it better when Draco has his mouth by Harry's ear and Draco's words are punched out of him as though it's taking everything in Draco to be able to do this. That silent desperation in the way Draco buries his hands in Harry's hair, how he kisses Harry as though he's still taken aback that he can do it. 

Harry turns them on the couch, Draco beneath him as Harry gets his hands in Draco's hair, messes it up more. Draco in Harry's clothes is better than Draco wearing Lucius Malfoy's robes, better than Draco wide-eyed and afraid. Harry likes Draco best when they're both taking their time, when every slide of fingers feels like a slow, deep caress from head to toe. This is better. It's infinitely better to have Draco in the silence of Cheshire, away from prying eyes and demanding fathers. Mussed up and half-laughing when Harry bites his neck, this Draco is who Harry wants.

-

Ron and Hermione show up at the exact hour Harry asked them to come, almost to the second. Draco is upstairs cleaning the cottage even though Harry has told him that he can handle it. Harry expects the knock so he heads out to get the door, calls out to Draco that it's just Ron and Hermione, and gets an "okay, Potter," back. It's oddly domestic and Harry does his best to be realistic about his chances with Draco once they head back to London.

It's not that Harry expects Draco to run away again, though a part of him will always worry. It's just that things can't be the same as they are here in the cottage. Draco is still technically engaged to Astoria Greengrass even though Astoria no longer wants to marry him. They still live together and Harry believes Draco that there's nothing going on between him and Astoria, but moving in together still implies commitment. Harry knows better than to think that everything will be fixed just because Draco looks good in the country sun, or because Draco's mouth feels good when he whispers how much he wants Harry. That quiet fervent way he's been touching Harry, how Draco's words in between kisses have started to sound like declarations.

Harry's still thinking this when he opens the door to Ron and Hermione. 

"Harry, where have you been?" Hermione says as she throws her arms around him. "We were so worried."

"Yeah," Ron says, sidestepping Harry and Hermione as he makes his way into the cottage. "We thought you'd gotten yourself kidnapped, or worse that you'd run away with—"

Ron stops midway through hanging his coat by the hook next to the door. Harry and Hermione both turn and Harry remembers that Draco hung up his cloak there this morning. 

"—Malfoy," Ron finishes, turning back to Harry.

Ron's indignation is understandable. Harry has done this before, run away to Draco without letting Ron and Hermione know that he's okay. It's then that the situation really dawns on Harry, how it must look that Draco Malfoy is in his home again and Ron and Hermione are the ones looking from the outside in. They don't do this to each other. They care about each other, protect each other. 

"I should have sent word sooner," Harry says. "I know I messed up, mate, but don't get mad at Draco. He's the one who told me I should write. I—what?"

Harry looks from Ron's startled expression to Hermione's quiet contemplation. She's almost smiling and Harry doesn't understand what part of what just happened amuses her. He turns back to Ron and Ron's rolling his eyes, sighing as though he's found another of Fred and George's test pranks running loose at the Burrow. Ron rubs his eyes, looks up at the ceiling, and exhales loudly.

"What in Merlin's fucking name did I ever do to deserve this?" he asks, pointing an accusing finger at Harry. "I want answers."

Harry knows he's given something away because Hermione steps forward to put an arm around him, and Ron's annoyance falls away almost at once. 

"Hey, mate, listen, no, stop that," Ron says, coming closer to throw an arm around Harry. "I love you. We love you, you know that. It's just…"

Hermione leans forward to meet Ron's eyes. "It's Malfoy?" she asks. 

"Malfoy," Ron says, shaking his head. "How the fuck did that happen?' 

*

Draco promises to help Harry get the cottage in order while he talks to Granger and Weasley. Draco isn't sure what Harry intends to do until Draco has cleaned the bedroom upstairs. He's packed everything that seems remotely like it would belong to Harry and left the trunk in the middle of the room. The bed is done, the sheets stretched with a simple charm, and the floor shining like new. Draco takes care to right the vase in the hallway and removes the stains on the rug in front of the hallway window.

He heads downstairs, flicking his wand almost lazily. It occurs to Draco that the reason the place has been so messy is that it has not occurred to Harry that he can use magic to put everything back in its proper place. Draco intends to make fun of Harry, but when he's making his way to the kitchen, he hears the unmistakable sounds of Granger and Weasley.

"I haven't told him," Harry's saying.

Draco pauses in the hallway just out of sight. It's only a moment because Draco will never stoop so low as to be caught eavesdropping. When he walks into the kitchen, he finds Harry standing by the sink, Granger to his left by the cupboard that holds the plates. Weasley is closest to Draco and he's the first to turn his full attention to Draco when he walks in. 

"Why the hell didn't you tell me you'd found Harry?" Weasley asks.

Draco sees Granger pocketing something by the counter from the corner of his eye. He pays it no mind as he turns to Weasley, angry already. The immediate desire to strangle Weasley for asking a reasonable question catches Draco off guard. It helps him reign himself in. He doesn't do this anymore and the fact that it's so easy to go back is slightly disconcerting. 

"Leave it, Ron," Granger says. "Harry already told us what happened."

Weasley's eyes flick towards Granger, but he doesn't back away from Draco. 

"I don't like this," Weasley says. "You still have a fiancée and you're here with Harry. What're you playing at Malfoy?"

There's no play. Just the knowledge that Draco has to be here. It's infinitely better to be here than to be in London with Astoria, planning how they'll dismantle their wedding. There are parents and caterers back in London. There's a shared home and two hundred unfolded invitations.

"Astoria called off the wedding," Draco says.

It's the wrong thing to say. But Harry steps forward just as Weasley turns disbelieving eyes on the rest of the room. 

"Ron," Harry says. "I appreciate the concern, but quite frankly, I need you to step out of my personal life."

Weasley turns to Granger as though asking for help, but Granger is looking at Draco. Their eyes meet and Draco sees unflinching brown eyes. She looks at him the way Astoria had the first time they met, assessing, cautious, and like all the secrets Draco might have, she has already heard before. He feels judged and found wanting, and for reasons he doesn't fully comprehend, this bothers him. 

"Harry knows what he's doing, Ron," Granger says.

The way she's looking at Draco implies that she doesn't think Draco does. 

"Thanks, Hermione," Harry says, looking relieved.

But Granger turns on Harry and there's something admonishing in her glance. She pats her pocket as though looking for something and Harry looks away from her. Draco doesn't understand what in Granger's pocket could make Harry look so guilty, but he doesn't ask. 

"We're going to go now," Granger says. 

"And we expect you by ours," Weasley adds. "Tonight."

Harry rolls his eyes. "Right," he says. "If I'm a minute late, please don't send the search party."

"That's not funny, Harry," Granger says.

Draco wishes he were anywhere else so that he wouldn't have to witness the way Harry ducks his head, embarrassed. Or the way Weasley lifts his hands and takes a step away from the group as though handing Harry the floor. Draco knows Harry doesn't mean it, that the biting remarks are just reflexes from someone who knows they've made a mistake and wishes to take it back.

"He only meant that he'll be there and you shouldn't worry," Draco says before he can stop himself. 

They're all looking at him now so Draco shrugs at Harry and walks back out. As he's leaving, he can hear Weasley say, "Is this for real?" 

*

Harry gets to Ron and Hermione's well before nine o'clock that evening. When he steps into his empty flat, the eerie silence in such a condensed space makes Harry feel watched. He leaves his trunk in the entrance, casts a quick cleaning spell on the place, and leaves as soon as he can. If Ron and Hermione are surprised to see him so soon, they say nothing when Harry knocks on their door. Ron looks Harry up and down carefully but lets him in without a word.

Harry steps into their flat, the sounds of a boiling kettle and the warmth already doing more to settle Harry than months away in the country. He's surprised by how comforted he feels, how even when Ron points to Harry's neck and says, "Nope, I was wrong. This is definitely worse than you dating Charlie," Harry's first instinct is to laugh. Harry was wrong to have left. He knows it's true when he steps into Ron and Hermione's sitting room and the armchair he sinks into is just as comfortable as he remembers. 

"I shouldn't have left like that," Harry says. 

Ron makes a noncommittal noise and leaves to get tea. Harry knows Ron and Hermione are talking about him, but the room is warm and Harry knows he's not alone. This place is lived-in in a way that Harry's flat isn't, scattered books around the coffee table and scuff marks on the floor from moved furniture. 

"Harry," Hermione says, coming back into the room. "We need to talk."

Harry nods. "I figured."

"You haven't been taking your meds," Ron calls from behind Harry's armchair. "I counted."

"What Ron means," Hermione says. "Is that we want to make sure that you're not doing things you'll regret later."

"No," Ron says, coming over and placing a tray of tea on the coffee table in front of Harry and Hermione. "What I mean is that you can't stop taking your meds. Like, no joke, mate. No running off and not taking your meds."

"Well, yes," Hermione says, frowning. "In a way. But we agreed to be nicer about it."

Ron shrugs. "Direct is much better. It means we can skip to the part where Harry says he's going to take his meds, and move on to talking about why Malfoy was wearing his clothes."

Harry shakes his head. He knows he should have stayed. He knows he should have walked in that night in January because Ron would have made tea and Hermione would have turned out the guest bed.

"I should have stayed," he says again.

"You needed space," Hermione says. "We get it. We just want to know that everything is okay and that you're taking your medication."

She puts emphasis on the last part of her sentence and Harry looks to Ron who busies himself with the tea. 

"It was just today," Harry says. "I was going to take them before Draco came downstairs and then, I just forgot."

"Harry—" Hermione starts.

"I get it, Hermione," Harry says. "I know."

Hermione nods, but Harry can tell she isn't done. There is a conversation coming, but Ron hands Harry a cup of tea, and him and Hermione take a seat on the couch across from Harry, and they all go quiet as they drink their tea. Ron takes a pointed sip and makes a show of putting his cup down on the coffee table.

"So," Ron says. 

Harry rolls his eyes and ignores the opening. He's enjoying the way Ron and Hermione keep trying not to look at each other. Harry can see Ron trying to ask what he wants to ask without making things awkward. Harry's had a good day, has enjoyed the country air and the company. 

"You can just ask me," Harry says.

Hermione sighs. "What was Draco doing at the cottage?"

"And how long was he there?" Ron asks. 

"He came to see me," Harry says. "Said you'd gone all over the Wizarding World looking for me."

"You hadn't written in three days," Ron says. "Kingsley wouldn't say where you were because you'd written to Kingsley and he knew you were fine. But you hadn't told us that, so what gives?"

"You know we're only asking because we're concerned," Hermione says. "Malfoy is still engaged to Astoria Greengrass. There've been announcements in the Prophet and even if he says she called it off—"

"It's Malfoy," Ron finishes for her.

Harry sits sideways on his armchair, legs thrown over one side. He stares at the ceiling fan, the slow rotations, the uneven coats of paint on the ceiling. He knows they're right. They're always so infuriatingly right. 

"I know," Harry says. "But I like him."

There's silence for so long that Harry turns to watch what Ron and Hermione are doing. Hermione is drinking tea but Ron is staring at Harry with an odd look on his face. It's unsettling in its intensity as though Ron is trying to work out whether he should speak or not.

"What is it?" Harry asks. 

Ron glances at Hermione and she shakes her head almost imperceptibly. 

"What?" Harry asks again, slightly annoyed now. 

"How serious is this thing with Malfoy?" Hermione asks. 

Harry thinks of Draco with pillow creases on his face, the way he had looked at Harry and said he wanted there to be something between them. Harry thinks of Draco in the sun, the way his mouth feels against Harry's mouth, the heat underneath Harry's hands when he puts his arms around Draco. He thinks of the way Draco's eyes had gone soft when Harry told him he loved him. 

Ron makes a quiet, distressed noise and when Harry looks at him, he has his face in his hands. "You're in love with Draco Malfoy," he says. "How is this the world we live in?"

Harry opens his mouth to argue, finds that there's no reason for it. He looks from Ron to Hermione, their worried expressions and the quiet resignation on Ron's face. 

"Something happened," Harry says. "What happened?"

Ron makes another sound of distress and Hermione pats him on the back. 

"Ron thinks that maybe Draco might be taking things seriously," Hermione says, "And we wanted to make sure that was something you wanted too."

"What did he say?" Harry asks.

He sits up in his chair and looks between Ron and Hermione. She's giving Harry a pained look. Ron, for his part, muffles another sound into his hands and finally looks up.

"According to Dawlish, Draco spent an entire week harassing everyone who knew even a little bit about Kingsley, until he tracked down the cottage you were in," Ron says. "He wasted a week of his life trying to find you."

Hermione frowns. "If he's really breaking things off with Astoria and he's been working so hard to get to you, then that means he intends something serious," she says. "And we don't want that to catch you off guard. Especially after the medications today."

Harry shakes his head. He's working through Draco dedicating a week to finding him even though Ron hadn't asked him to. 

"I told you it was just a mistake," Harry says. "I've forgotten to take the pills before. It's nothing. I—"

Harry looks between Ron and Hermione and begins to understand. He thinks of Draco, out of breath on the porch, his hair coming loose around his face. He thinks of Draco carefully packing Harry's trunk, of Draco getting the garden in order, Draco gathering the chickens and taking them back to the nearby farms. 

"I have to go," Harry says. 

"What? Why?" Ron asks. 

Harry stops on his way out of the sitting room. He turns, half-smiling at Ron. "I think Draco Malfoy might be in love with me," he says.

"Wait," Ron calls as Harry finds his travelling cloak.

"What?" Harry calls back. 

"Just go by Floo," Ron says. "We had it connected to Malfoy's when he said he was helping us look for you. Figured it would be easier to share information. I should have known Malfoy would run off without telling us anything, should have just disconnected the thing."

But Harry's barely listening. He walks back into Ron and Hermione's sitting room, looks at them on the couch. Ron rolls his eyes when Harry looks at him and Hermione smiles. 

"We know better than to stop you from doing what you want," she says. "But, Harry, do be careful."

Harry nods, takes a pinch of Floo powder, and disappears into the green flames. He closes his eyes against the flashing fireplaces, tucks his elbows closer to his side, and still manages to bump against Draco's fireplace on his way out. Harry shakes himself off, takes in the neatly arranged furniture, the sleek leather couch, and the little glass coffee table. 

"Excuse me," a voice calls from the right. "Who are you?"

Harry turns and in the doorway, he sees a beautiful woman with long dark hair. She's exquisite in the light, all evidence of refined manners and family money in her clothes and the way she stands. She's tall and Harry can imagine her next to Draco, how her dark hair would be a stark contrast to Draco's blond hair. She's polished and put together and Harry sees the evidence of the sharp-edged Draco in her own immaculate dress.

"You must be Astoria," Harry says.

She looks him over in the dim light. "Ah," she says as she spots his scar. "Harry Potter. Of course."


	16. A Wedding Postponed

Draco watches Harry leave at sunset when the sky is broken into bright colours that fade to blue. He stays back a moment to look at the cottage and its white fence, the empty little chicken coop that housed five hens from the neighbouring houses. The little garden is the only thing that still lives, its green leaves poking through the holes in the wire enclosure. In places, there are tell-tale marks of digging hens, small wells near the edges, and clumps of dirt piled nearby from kicking feet. 

Draco has been here little more than a day, but the peace of the empty fields and the quiet, setting sun have done something to him. Harry, with his casually tossed out words and the way he can't seem to keep his hands off Draco, has done something to him. Here, away from the noises of the city, like in Hungary, like in Austria, Draco is left with nothing but his own thoughts, his most jealousy guarded truths. 

The truth is, he's afraid to go back to London. Back in the city lights, with the eagle-eyed reporters, Draco is afraid that this bout of indifference that few would call courage will wilt. Or worse, that in the presence of his parents, with Astoria by his side, he'll remember how simple it had been to just go along with what they wanted. Draco is afraid he will be a coward when the time comes, that the promises he has made himself will crumble like the clumsily put together scaffolding that they are. So he stays for a moment longer, pretending he has the courage to fight for what he wants even if his whole world is against him. 

"We deserve better," Astoria had said.

Draco looks at the empty fields and wants so much to believe it's true. 

-

"Well, well, well," Astoria says when Draco walks into their house. "Those are not the clothes I sent you away in. Should I be worried, love?"

It's soothing to hear her teasing voice as Draco walks into their kitchen. She's lovely as always, if a bit sluggish as she turns to fully look at Draco. Her eyes land on the borrowed Muggle clothing and Draco allows her to walk around him and take it all in. 

"Who were you with?" Astoria asks, coming to a stop in front of Draco. "We must talk about their choice of Muggle items. Or was this you?"

Astoria looks up, wide-eyed, and Draco imagines years of her and him like this, easy and comfortable, no secrets between them. How simple everything would be if she didn't want something else, if she didn't believe they both deserved something better. He pauses a moment in his contemplation, allows himself to remember Harry's hands and his mouth. It's no competition. Draco would trade this away in a second if it meant he was allowed only one more day in Cheshire with Harry.

"I went to see Harry Potter," Draco says.

"Ah," Astoria says. "So it isn't Blaise then. I did wonder after they came to help. But Pansy says he and McLaggen are working through something."

"It's much worse than Blaise," Draco tells her. "It's the actual Chosen One."

"The limelight," Astoria nods. "Not exactly the quietest of relationships. Not exactly the easiest for you, I imagine."

Draco sighs and Astoria pats his hand.

"I...I don't know if I can do it," he says and away from the cottage, the words threaten to consume him. 

Astoria's hand is warm on his and when Draco looks at her, he sees compassion and understanding. He doesn't need to explain to her. He never has.

"Is this what you want?" She asks.

"Of course," Draco says.

"Then this is what you fight for, love," she says. "This is what we fight for. What, if you allow them in, Pansy and Blaise will fight for."

Draco laughs. "Blaise has never had to fight for a thing in his life," he says. 

Astoria gives him a despairing look. "It doesn't bode well for you that he got you so easy then, " she says.

"Yes," Draco says, raising an eyebrow. "It did. Rather well and thoroughly, I would say."

And in the tranquillity of the night, Astoria's laughter is as clear as a ringing bell.

-

Draco showers because he can still smell dirt and grass on his clothes. He takes his time and allows the hot water to wash away what's left of the tension in his shoulders. He has made a decision, or the promise of one, and there is nothing left to do but to push forward. 

He steps out of the shower and it seems wrong to put on his own clothes when he has just washed away what's left of the cottage. Draco does it anyway and once he's in his clothes, he feels somewhat balanced again. He looks at himself in the bathroom mirror, at the shape of his nose and the furrow of his brow. Every day that passes, he looks more and more like his father, hardened edges and haunted eyes. 

He steps away and heads to the sitting room to find Astoria. Instead, he finds Harry and her, staring at each other from across the room. Harry's just come from the fireplace and Draco remembers linking his fireplace with Weasley's, a week ago. Astoria leans against the doorway and Draco can see her hand beginning to tremble. He moves to her on instinct, wraps an arm around her to give her support and feels her sink into his side gratefully. It doesn't occur to Draco what this might look like until Harry takes a step back across from them.

"Oh, come now," Astoria says, her voice filled with the teasing flirtation she wields so effectively against everyone. "Surely, you've told him about me."

"I should go," Harry says.

"Wait," Draco says.

Astoria beats them all to action simply by pretending nothing out of the ordinary is happening. She steps away from Draco, takes a moment to gather herself before walking across the room and sinking into one of the armchairs. 

"Changes in weather always make me tired," she says to Harry. "Especially after particularly heavy magic and I was just so tired of the colour on my bedroom walls."

Harry looks to Draco, then back to Astoria, and Draco waits, stuck trying to decide what he should do. It's as though the world is playing a cruel game with him because Harry's here and all Draco has done is look at him, at his worried expression, the stubble on his face, his eyes. All it takes is that single look from Harry and Draco knows that no excuse he could ever make would be worth losing that. He wants whatever it is that Harry Potter comes with and it's terrifying. It's a bone-deep fear of what his mother will say, of what his father will do. Draco has so little left and he doesn't know if it's worth gambling away. But he wants to do it anyway because something about Harry in his home feels right. 

"Tea?" Draco asks.

Harry looks at him, Draco looks back, and Astoria's delicate voice says, "Tea would be lovely."

*

"Relax," Astoria says when Draco leaves the room. "This isn't anything as mundane as a confrontation. I know what my position is here. Draco and I were very clear from the beginning."

"Then what is this?" Harry asks. 

He can't imagine a reason why Astoria would want to talk to him, why she would do so with Draco out of the room. There's a part of Harry that's saying he should go, that perhaps he was wrong, that Ron didn't see what he thought he saw. Perhaps Draco has decided that he likes his life better with Astoria. 

"Don't look so scared," Astoria says. "I just want to talk to you about Draco. Nothing more than that."

"Why would you need to speak to me?" Harry asks.

"Because," Astoria says, leaning back in her chair. "I know Draco and I know his family. I am sure Blaise and Pansy will have their own words for you, but I got you first."

She's exactly who Harry has pictured Draco with time and time again. She's beautiful and bold, all refined pureblood manner, but none of the disdain. Astoria looks malleable, but Harry can tell she carries herself this way on purpose. Easily moulded to whatever situation presents itself. Not quite one person, but many in an effort to protect herself. She is, in so many ways, just like Draco. 

"Do you love him?" she asks.

Whatever Harry expects from Astoria, it's not that. He almost laughs and she must catch his expression before he changes it because she frowns. 

"This will not work if you don't love him," she says. "Not if it's one-sided."

"No," Harry says. "This won't work if it's one-sided."

Astoria regards him carefully as she leans forward in her armchair. Her brown eyes watch Harry carefully and there's something shrewd and sharp in her eyes. She's sizing him up, Harry realises, and though he doesn't know what he could have done to attract this attention from her, he finds that he doesn't wish to come up short.

"Very well," she says finally. "In that case, I'm sure Draco can explain the rest to you when you both leave."

"Leave?" Comes Draco's voice from the doorway.

"Oh, yes, after you've helped me up," Astoria says. "I really should stop when I'm at my limit, but you know me, ever stubborn."

Draco steps forward, but Harry's closer. He extends a hand to Astoria and she takes it. Her grip is much harder than Harry anticipates and she leans fully on his arm on her way up.

"Astoria," Draco says, concerned. "What did you do?"

Astoria closes her eyes and sighs. "Protection spells, some defensive magic," she says. "Just enough to keep our parents away for a while."

Harry knows this is a private conversation, some shorthand that Astoria and Draco have developed together. He feels extra in the face of their combined presence. Draco, still by the doorway, dressed in his own clothes, looks like a husband. And Astoria, even with her hand in Harry's, looks like a wife. 

"I just need sleep," Astoria says. "Go with him. The poor man looks like you've broken his heart, and we all know that of all of us in this room, I'm the only one allowed to do that."

Astoria takes a deep breath and heads towards Draco. Harry watches her careful progression across the room, how she makes it seem both effortless and graceful. Harry can tell there's something wrong, but only because he felt her hands on his arm. Whatever it is, Astoria is good at hiding. 

"I suppose you should come into the kitchen," Draco says when Astoria has left.

Harry looks at Draco and Astoria's presence hangs between them. But Harry has not come here to leave with questions. 

"Okay," Harry says. "Let's have tea."

-

It turns out that Draco and Astoria's house is unlike Malfoy Manor in every way possible. There are windows everywhere they pass, soft curtains that are easily pushed aside, and Harry can imagine how the rooms light up in the mornings. The rooms in between have walls in soft colours, pastels and cream. The house feels lived in. That same clear comfort that's present in Ron and Hermione's place exists here too. Harry sees that the kitchen has three windows, their blinds closed against the moonlight. The stainless steel appliances shine even in the dim light and the white counter contrasts with the light blue walls. 

There are boxes of teas on the table, little pots of loose leaf tea, and milk and sugar in two saucers. Draco goes to the cupboards to the left of the sink and pulls out two cups. Harry watches him, remembers the morning Draco stayed at his flat.

"Are you going to make me breakfast?" Harry asks.

He sees understanding dawn on Draco's face as he looks at Harry from across the kitchen. The smile is small, the barest lift of the corner of Draco's mouth, but it's enough.

"Sit," Draco says. "We have to talk."

Harry takes a seat, watches Draco take the kettle off the stove and pour water into their cups. 

"Astoria likes loose leaf tea," he says, by way of explanation as he places the cups on the table. 

Harry nods and they're quiet as they choose tea and stir in their milk and sugar. 

"So," Draco says, finally. "Astoria thinks I should tell you everything. Is that what you want?'

"Of course," Harry says. 

Draco nods and when he looks up, there's something almost like regret on his face. "Some family member of hers, a long time ago, had a blood malediction placed on them," he says, quietly. "She was unlucky enough to be the descendant it resurfaced in. Her parents have always been protective and you know how it is in the old families."

"No," Harry says. "I don't."

Draco looks at him and the space between them takes on a solid weight. It's not the first time they've noticed differences between them, but it's the first time that it matters. Because they're not the old families, no matter who raised Draco. 

"Parents value names," Draco says. "My mother and father, Astoria's mother and father, they want the names to live on. So relationships where...there might be no chance of birthing offspring are...highly discouraged. Some might even go as far as to say that they're reviled. I—"

Draco pauses and this is also where they don't understand each other, where Harry tries and fails to see why it matters so much to Draco what other people think. Why, after everything that has happened since the war started, Draco is still trying to hold on to who he was before the war. Nothing will change people's minds, Harry knows this. He even understands that it might be harder for Draco hearing all the bad press. But what he can't wrap his head around is why Draco is still seeking the approval of the people who let him down the most. 

"Parents are meant to love their kids," Harry says and hopes that Draco understands.

There is enough silence in the kitchen that the faint drip of the faucet is audible. It's accompanied by the ticking of the clock on the wall to the right of the kitchen table. Harry takes a chance and looks at Draco and he knows he has misunderstood something important. 

"Families are about loyalty, about being there when no one else is," Draco says, carefully. "My mother and father, for all that they may have committed grave faults during the war, are still my parents. They deserve to be taken into consideration. I don't expect you to understand. I don't even expect you to want to understand. But I have to take them into consideration and keep them in mind. I don't mean that I'll never tell them about...about us."

Here, Draco breaks off again, his eyes roaming around the kitchen. Harry can practically see him planning ways to escape. 

"Do you want to do this?" Harry asks. "Even if it means it isn't something your parents will ever want?"

Draco freezes. His hand on the table is clenched into a tight fist. His throat works against nothing and his breathing is loud. These are the things they haven't thought about, the things that were easy to ignore in Cheshire. There is more to this than what either of them want, more people to consider. There is Astoria and the wedding invitations Harry can see on the counter. 

"I…" Draco starts. "I can't leave her."

They're back on Astoria and Harry understands. He does. He just refuses to wait for nothing.

"Okay," he says. 

He makes to get up, stops when he sees Draco's frown, the swift change from confusion to panic. "Wait," Draco says. "Where are you going?"

Now it's Harry's turn to frown. "You pick Astoria," Harry says. "I was leaving."

The shock on Draco's face makes Harry pause. "What?" Harry asks.

"Potter," Draco says, closing his eyes. "You are an absolute fool."

Draco stands and Harry waits. He knows better than to hope, but there's a real smile on Draco's face now. He makes his way around the table slowly, his eyes on Harry's the entire time.

"Why am I the fool?" Harry asks and he can feel his pulse against his throat.

"Because," Draco says, making it around the table. "I pick you."

He puts his arms around Harry, buries his face in Harry's neck. 

"Oh?" Harry asks, but the simmering happiness he's felt since talking to Ron and Hermione is back full force. 

"I want to do this with you," Draco says. "But I need to do it at my own pace and I need to be here for Astoria. I promised she would always have a place to stay even after she got her affairs in order."

"So you're not marrying Astoria?" Harry asks, wanting to make sure.

Draco laughs. "No," he says. "She and I, we're not...I think she might actually be in love with Pansy."

Understanding floods through Harry and he can't quite keep the soft, "oh," to himself. It's followed by sadness so sudden, it leaves Harry breathless. He doesn't understand it and Draco's right, Harry will never try to. It seems wholly unfair that after everything that's happened, there might still be people in the world who can't be who they are. That Draco and Astoria have to hide, that they came so close to getting married simply to please their families. It shouldn't work that way.

"I can wait," Harry says, and when Draco looks at him with wonder in his grey eyes, Harry knows that he will wait for as long as it takes.

*

Draco doesn't think Harry will ask him to come home with him. They have to go out across the street and Apparate to the front of Harry's flat. Draco knows the reporters are still there occasionally. They've staggered their schedules so on some days, they'll be all over the Ministry entrances, and Draco will have to use the Floo. Draco prefers meeting Robards outside of the Ministry, these days. Going in through the meeting room at the back of the Auror offices leads to too many unwanted memories, and Draco prefers to think of those things as fleetingly as possible. 

Things like Rita Skeeter and the looming deadline.

Draco has not thought of her since he and Astoria had moved into their home together. There had been the occasional article about how Draco had bought himself a bride, but it had merited no more than a glance. Especially with all the other articles that came out after. It had been heavily suggested that the Greengrasses were out of money and that Astoria, through her marriage with Draco, was their only hope. There had been rubbish about Daphne being secretly engaged to a Muggle prince, how disgraced, their parents had had no choice but to offer Astoria to the Malfoys. 

All of those headlines had been expected. Draco is under no delusion as to who Rita Skeeter is. He knows she's counting down the days until the DLF task force moves on the last of the DLF members. But she would have written her article, and Draco would have married Astoria, and everything would have been okay. 

Then Weasley had come asking for Draco's help, and there had been too much to do, no need for Draco to waste time on unwanted thoughts. Now, he's here in his kitchen with Harry Potter standing in front of him under the orange lights. They're both holding empty mugs of tea, and Harry asks Draco to come to his place. Here Draco is, thinking about what comes after, of Rita Skeeter and her article, of Robards's last owl with the official date for the raid. 

Everything is ending, but Harry asks Draco to come home with him, and Draco says yes before he can overthink it.

-

Harry wakes up to Draco next to him on lilac sheets under the warm, morning sun. The window is open, and the soft breeze that blows through the window makes the room comfortable. Draco is on his side, his arm folded between him and Harry. Harry's on his side too, and between the two of them, they've managed to just avoid touching each other, even though they went to sleep chest to back. Harry doesn't think about what it all means. He stops himself before his head goes places it shouldn't, rolls carefully out of bed, and heads for the bathroom. He brushes his teeth, half-asleep, and when he looks in the mirror, he sees himself looking tired but relaxed. The worry lines he was always carrying before he left for Cheshire are gone now, something else settling in the spaces leftover. It's as though Harry's body is relearning how to exist outside of daily stressors. 

It gives Harry hope, though Dr Griffith has said many times that some people don't ever come off their medication. Harry repeats to himself that taking medication doesn't make him better or worse than anyone else. He goes through the long list in his head of things he's grateful for, smiles to himself when he mentally adds Draco's name to the list. 

He feels almost foolish for how happy he is, as though there's something he's missing. A feeling overlooked, or a memory that's missing. Something that will bring him back to reality, where Draco realises he has made a mistake, and where Harry has to figure out how to come back from loving someone. It's a moment's thought, and then Harry wrestles it back down, puts it to the back of his mind.

Harry leaves the bathroom and intends to go take his medication, but when he comes out, Draco is up. He sees Harry and the smile that breaks out across his face is beautiful in the morning light. Draco is all gold sunlight and blond hair, and Harry thinks of the fields in Cheshire and suddenly, Harry can't get the idea of Draco out in public out of his head. 

He thinks of both of them somewhere safe, where Harry can get his hands on Draco, where it won't matter who sees them. He thinks of Dean Thomas and the way they'd met in the Dreamer's Bar, where the lights were low and the music loud, where the bodies were too many to pay attention to just one. Harry thinks of the handsome bartender who served him his birthday drink over a year ago. 

It's been some time since Harry went back to Grimmauld Place, longer still since he disappeared into Muggle London. He can imagine Draco in the shadows of London nights, how they'd blend into the dark streets, how the photographers are getting tired of hanging outside of Harry homes. He thinks of how easy it had been last night when they'd Apparated to the alley behind Harry's flat

Harry wants to be outside with Draco and so he asks before he thinks it through. 

"I know a club," Harry says. "We could go if you want?"

Draco's face goes through a series of complicated emotions, and this is the third time in the past two days that Harry's been able to read Draco so easily. Draco is letting him in, and Harry wishes he could say how much it meant to share this with Draco. He wants to explain why it matters so much that Harry takes Draco outside, that part of Harry feels this thing between them will only feel real when others can see it. 

"It's a Muggle club," Harry says. "There are no wizards there. I used to go when I wanted to be alone. I just thought that it would be nice to get out."

Draco shakes his head and Harry thinks he's being dismissed. 

"It's okay," Harry says. "It was just a suggestion."

He means to leave it at that. Harry meant it when he told Draco they could go at his pace. Harry turns to go but Draco calls him back. 

"Okay," Draco says, so softly Harry thinks he imagined it.

"What?" Harry asks, turning back.

Draco looks as though he's having trouble focusing on Harry. He keeps meeting Harry's eyes and sliding them away. The moment feels heavy, and Harry doesn't know how to make the tension go away. He doesn't mean to make things difficult for Draco, doesn't want to add more to what Draco is already dealing with. They're new at this and Harry knows that no matter what he may feel, they're just starting to build their foundations.

"I'll go," Draco says. "If you want to go, I want to go."

It's not quite what Harry wants, but Draco squares his shoulders and the next time he looks at Harry, he's smiling. 

"Okay," Harry says, and it's so easy to lean into the feeling of contentment, to smile flirtatiously at Draco, and say, "It's a date."

*

Draco agrees to go because Harry in the morning, with sleep rumpled hair and eager, honest eyes, is disarming. It's morning, so Draco allows himself to look at Harry's square jaw, his morning stubble, all of his lean masculine edges. Draco lets the attraction wash through him, that rapid beating of his heart that lets him know that this is someone worth his notice. It would be nice, Draco thinks, to go out somewhere no one knows them, to flirt with Harry, to allow himself that freedom. 

Then the sensible part of Draco rears its head, and all he can see is his father walking into the ballroom at the Manor. That quiet rage his father carried, directed at Draco for the first time in Draco's life. He knows it can't be safe, not ever. Not with Rita Skeeter. Not with Astoria calling off the engagement. It feels too open to the possibility of exposure and that has always meant danger. 

But Harry says it's okay and Draco thinks he could hide in the dark corners of the club. No one would think to look for him there. He would be safe, if he were careful, if he kept to himself. If he found some hidden spot with Harry and stayed there all night. They can go, and Draco can try, and in the shadows of the night, he can reach for some sense of normalcy. 

So they go, when the sun sets and Draco's borrowed some more of Harry's clothing, dark slim jeans and a dark blue shirt. Harry smiles when he sees Draco and Draco has to pull himself together. He can feel all of his nerves as though they're vibrating at a frequency that hurts Draco's ears. Off-kilter and not wanting to be, Draco heads for the door to Harry's flat.

"Hey, wait," Harry says.

Draco turns, almost hoping he'll call it off. But Harry taps his wand on the top of Draco's head and the Disillusionment Charm washes over Draco, like someone cracked an egg over his head. He shudders because of the cold, because of the fear, because Harry in tight jeans and a nice green shirt is too much. 

"Let's go," Draco says, reaching out for Harry's hand in the dark hallway. 

Harry squeezes Draco's hand, casts his own Disillusionment Charm, and together they head out into the night. 

-

The club pulses with the bodies within, all of them moving to the low bass that seems to pull at Draco's heart. As he stands by the entrance, the slow but inevitable drag of sound across Draco's skin, and the hot lights flashing different colours, wash over Draco. From the corner of his eyes, Draco can see Harry watching him. It feels like a test, standing by the door, the crowd of men, the bar to their right. 

Draco has never been to a Muggle club, but he remembers Hungary, the bathroom stalls in the back, the anonymous blonds. The smells here are the same, cheap beer wafting from where people have spilt it on the floor. The smell of bodies in close proximity, the underlying smells of cologne and air freshener. Draco can already feel the oppressive heat from the people on the dance floor, the shoves when someone needs a drink at the bar. 

There's nowhere to hide. There is also no one who will recognize him in this bar.

The emptiest part of the club is here by the side of the entrance, the small space between the door and the bar. The lights don't hit this far back, but Draco can't imagine standing here all night. He knows Harry wants to go in. Draco does too, in a way. But to be out here, even at a Muggle club, is foolish and risky. And here he is because this is something he wants to do despite his better judgement, because he likes the way Harry stands, at ease and excited. Harry's practically vibrating at Draco's side, and Draco can feel all the concentrated attention at his side, the way Harry's leaning towards him. 

Draco turns and meets Harry's eyes in the dim light. It's like Hungary, Draco tells himself, as he concentrates on not flinching when Harry reaches across the space between them. Harry's hand is hot on Draco's wrist, and the beat of the music vibrates with Draco's heart. Draco doesn't lean away when Harry closes the distance between them, his mouth by Draco's ear. 

"Relax," he says. "This is meant to be fun."

Draco lets his eyes slide past Harry, over to the bar. There are some people gathered around it, but most of them are dancing, and Draco can't keep his eyes away from them. They move like a mass, bodies swaying in time to the music, men in see-through clothing, some of them shirtless, their skin glistening with sweat as they sway. There are men on top of tables in small shorts, the kaleidoscope of lights shining on their faces and bodies. 

They could disappear into the crowd. Draco can see that Harry wants to, and he'd give anything to have Harry's confidence, the bravery that borders on recklessness.

"Come on," Harry says, again.

He tugs on Draco's wrist, and it's easier to follow Harry deeper into the club than it is to make a scene by the door. Draco may be fighting years of instinct, but even here, his disdain for public fights wins out over his fear. He lets Harry pull him over to the bar, lets Harry's hand slide down over his wrist so that they're holding hands instead. Harry pulls Draco to the opposite side of the bar furthest from the door, and on their way, Draco can see the eyes that follow and linger on Harry. 

He tries to imagine what the men around them are seeing, whether they too enjoy the way Harry's shoulders fill out his shirt, whether it's as obvious to them, as it is to Draco, that Harry's built athletic and lean. They're about the same weight and build, but Draco is taller, just enough that Harry has to lean back a little whenever they kiss. He imagines they make a pretty picture, him, blond and tall, and Harry darker and charming. 

They make it to the bar and Harry leans over to talk to the handsome bartender. They exchange pleasantries and Draco senses the air of familiarity. The bartender leans in close to Harry using the volume of the music as an excuse. Draco hangs back, watches from behind Harry, his eyes tracking over the bartender's face, his classically handsome features. Harry's drinks come back to him first, even though there are other people who were at the bar before him.

Draco thinks he's doing a good job of holding back his expression, and he's rewarded with Harry's confused frown when he turns and finds Draco a few steps back.

"Hey," Harry says, stepping away from the bar.

"Hey," Draco says, his eyes flicking over Harry's head and to the bar.

The handsome bartender is watching them, and Draco doesn't pretend he isn't looking when he and the bartender make eye contact. Harry says something that Draco misses as he sizes up the bartender. Attractive, late twenties or early thirties, with bright brown eyes and nicely sculpted cheekbones. He's handsome, but Draco is the one here with Harry and that means something. 

"You know the bartender?" Draco asks. 

"Who? Nathan?" Harry asks. 

Draco doesn't realise his mistake until Harry turns around to look back at a waving Nathan. Draco watches the exchange quietly, waits for Harry to turn back to him. 

"What is it?" Harry asks, and he must see something on Draco's face because he's trying to catch Draco's eyes.

Draco sets his lips and finally looks at Harry. The rotating reds, blues, yellows, and white from the strobe light in the centre of the dance floor pass over both of them. Draco watches Harry's face tinged red and he thinks of Rita Skeeter and her blood-red lipstick. She comes to his mind like a dagger, embedded deep and painful, her presence like a wall crashing in between Harry and Draco. 

They shouldn't be here, Draco thinks. Not out in the open where Nathan's knowing eyes watch them. It isn't safe to exist in this space, to have Harry so close. There is no mistaking what they're doing here. And the raid on the DLF has a date. 

"Draco," Harry says, his hand reaching out to grab Draco's wrist.

This time Draco does flinch back. His step is too sudden. He jars too far to the left, away from Harry's hand and into the back of a stranger. Hands grab Draco around the shoulders, a strong, firm grip, a laughing voice saying, "Woah there," by his ear. Draco thinks of blonds in his bed, of the same free laughter as Draco pushed his way into their flats. 

He pulls away, turns, and sees a beautiful stranger with a mesh shirt and glitter on half of his face. He's wearing bright red, form-fitting pants and the club lights set his gold hair on fire. He winks at Draco, open appreciation on his face. The quick once over makes Draco feel exposed, his secrets laid out in the open. He almost opens his mouth to tell the guy that he's mistaken, that he's here because he's accompanying a friend. But Draco feels Harry's hand on his arm and the words die in his throat.

Draco turns to Harry and tries to get his body to understand what's happening. He's terrified, his heart beating out of control in his chest and at the same time, he knows Harry would never have brought him here if he weren't safe. Part of Draco is ready to flee, wanting to shrink away from the attention of the beautiful stranger. Part of him wants to lean back into Harry, to make it clear who he's with.

"Hey," Harry says, again, his voice soft and close to Draco's ear. "Hey, it's all right. No one knows you here."

Draco blinks, counts out his breaths. 

"Do you want to go?" Harry asks.

Draco keeps counting. They could go home. If Draco says he's had enough, Harry will take them home. He repeats the thought in his head, finds that he believes it. It's not a far leap from there. He knows they can leave so it follows that the person in control here is Draco. What Draco says goes and just knowing that, settles the panic in Draco's chest. He inhales once more, lets his eyes focus on the group of people near them. The beautiful stranger has turned back to his group of friends, all of them focused on their own conversation. The nearest group from there is busy trying to push their way through to the bar. All around them, people cluster together absorbed in their own things. Even the ones who are alone only linger on Draco long enough to see that he's accompanied, and then they too, move on.

"Draco," Harry says again.

This time Draco is ready. "I'm okay," he says.

He lets Harry look his fill, and then, despite the faint traces of terror that linger in the tension on the back of his neck, Draco leans in and kisses Harry.

The music in the room seems to fade and for a moment, all Draco can hear is the soft whispering of the people around them. He's caught Harry by surprise and there's a moment where Harry's unresponsive. Draco leans back, his eyes flitting over to the people around them without his permission. Nathan the bartender is watching them, and Draco wars between the proprietary warmth in his chest at having Harry in his arms and the knowledge of too many eyes. 

He hates this. 

But then Harry's hands are on the sides of Draco's face and his lips are warm against Draco's. This is better. This will always be better than anonymous fucks in club bathrooms and beautiful strangers. He will always prefer the way Harry's hair tangles in Draco's fingers when he reaches up a hand to keep Harry close. Draco closes his eyes harder, and he can feel the edges of freedom in the seams between him and Harry where their skin touches and their mouths move. In between the spaces leftover, Draco can feel his entire body let go on one, last, desperate exhale. 

*

Harry wakes up to Draco's mouth on the back of his neck and Draco's hands around his middle for the seventh time in a row. They're pressed together on Draco's bed, the covers bundled around them, creating a pocket of warmth against the last of the late April chill. The soft green walls amplify the light from the windows and give the room a pleasant airiness so that when Harry stretches out, he feels the peacefulness settling deep within bones.

He waits for Draco to wake up, and he's starting to notice the pattern, how their days would go if they ever lived together. Harry wakes early, enjoys the sounds of Draco breathing next to him, the warmth of the covers. When Draco wakes, they'll go downstairs and have breakfast with Astoria and she'll flirt with both of them, until Harry laughs or Draco says, "Astoria, please." If Ron or Hermione owl, Harry will leave after breakfast, stop by his place to pick up clothing and go see them. Afterwards, Harry will come right back, and there Draco will be, waiting for him in the blue living room that reminds Harry of his bedroom.

He doesn't mention the colour of the room, especially because on the days he has been back and Draco has been waiting by the fireplace, they curl up together on the armchair. Neither of them says anything about the new things building between them. There is still something breakable here, despite the night at the club. Draco has not agreed to go out again, and Harry enjoys staying indoors too much to push. 

The only thing that keeps Harry from enjoying this fully is the fact that it has been over seven days since he last took his pills. He hadn't meant to stop. The first day, it had been too late when Ron and Hermione had come to Cheshire to take the morning one. Then he'd come to see Draco and the pills were at his house. After that, it was either Draco asking him to stay, or Harry forgetting to take his pills in between running to Ron and Hermione's or back to Draco's.

Harry knows the excuses well. He and Dr Griffith had talked about it in the first year Harry went to see him. He knows better than to stop his medication in this way. But Harry has also not felt better since before the end of the war. He just wants to try, just a small experiment for himself, to check. He knows himself, knows he will have no problem going back on his medication. But things are working out so well with Draco, and Harry doesn't want to bring up unnecessary problems if he doesn't have to.

He'll answer Hermione's knowing looks at dinner another day.

*

Draco doesn't tell his parents about calling off his engagement with Astoria, even after Harry goes back to work and things settle down. Draco knows Astoria has talked to her parents, that they've agreed to her wishes. The rest is dependent on Draco and even though things have been going well, there is a part of him that wants to avoid the confrontation that's coming for a while longer. He'll have to fight his mother and father, and despite what Harry does and doesn't understand, these are things that can't be taken lightly. 

"I know," Astoria had said when Draco explained to her why he was taking so long. 

But even waiting is getting tiring, like a lead weight tied to Draco's feet. He feels it all over his body, some hidden tension pulling him every which way. Twice he considers going to see his mother, and twice he doesn't do it.

Suddenly, it's almost in May and Draco hasn't told his mother anything yet. Astoria is practically packing her bags to leave as soon as she's able, and the raid on the DLF is in three days. Harry has been staying at the Ministry for longer hours, getting reacquainted with his pending cases, and Draco can feel Rita Skeeter in his bones. There will be a celebration the next day if everything goes well. It's meant to be just a few people close to Kingsley and some of the press, only those who can come at short notice. 

If everything goes well three days from now, Rita Skeeter will be free to print whatever she wants. If she gets wind that Astoria is in the process of calling off her engagement, then those are at least two weeks worth of headlines, without taking into consideration how his father will react. It's better to wait a little longer, Draco thinks. Only until Skeeter's headlines hit and Draco can weather the storm. 

But even as he thinks it, he knows it isn't fair. This isn't what he does anymore. His father is the one who schemes, who manipulates those around him to get what he wants. Draco doesn't want to be like his father anymore. So he must find what works, some in-between for the inevitable meltdown that's coming. He needs a way where he gets more time and where Astoria and Harry both get what they deserve.

Draco tries to find a solution and the days go by in a flash. Draco blinks and the next time he looks up, it's the morning of the raid. He goes out to Diagon Alley with Astoria and in between their stop at the Quidditch shoppe and Gringotts, there is a note in Draco's pocket. He can tell who sent it because there is no mistaking Macnair's neat loops, or the indentations on the parchment from where Macnair leaned too hard. Goyle has messier handwriting, and aside from Macnair, the only other person with similar loops is Draco. He knows them all, down to the freckles on Rookwood's face, and he wishes again that things were different. If they could all go back and tell their younger selves what was going to happen, maybe they would have made better decisions. 

As it stands, Draco can't even go on the DLF raid. Kingsley wants him back to identify the people they bring in. Draco knows that it's always better to keep an inside man until everything has settled. After all, Dumbledore kept Severus Snape for years before the war ended. It's better not to dwell too much on the past, Draco knows. It consumes with abandon and makes the scars on his left forearm itch.

The only thing that makes Draco feel better about the whole thing is that Harry can't go on the raid either. Kingsley had said no the minute Harry had tried to make a case in his favour. According to Robards, there had been a massive argument that ended in Harry being sent home and Kingsley having to take an early lunch. In truth, Harry had pushed, Kingsley had held firm, and respect and admiration for Kingsley won over Harry's anger. Weasley was going, which made things worse, but Harry had simply come to Draco's and had fallen asleep. 

He sleeps a lot these days, and Draco chalks it up to catching up on his cases, to the apparent guilt Harry feels at having taken time off. Early mornings aren't the issue, because Harry's been sleeping longer than usual too. He gets up later on the weekends, says he's just tired whenever Draco asks. Everything else is still the same. Harry still gets up for breakfast, for banter with Astoria. He still catches Draco off guard as much as he can, kisses him when Draco least expects it. 

There's nothing outwardly wrong, so Draco doesn't think too hard on Harry's sleeping habits. He imagines everything will be better once Harry's back on his regular work schedule, or once Draco is able to help him. Kingsley's said that he intends for Harry and Draco to be partners eventually and though circumstances have come to light that make that decision harder to make, Kingsley still holds by it. Draco hadn't said yes or no to Kingsley's unasked question, though he knows at some point, it'll be a problem. But Draco would rather sit through hours of seminars on intimate relationships in the workplace than work with either Longbottom or Weasley. 

So, he waits, and when Harry gets home, they wait together by the Floo. Draco takes the armchair by the fire and Harry paces the sitting room length. Astoria is in bed early, but she leaves the kettle on and biscuits. The minutes tick by and Harry keeps checking the clock over the fireplace, his eyes darting between that and the fire. Neither of them expects anyone to come tell them anything in person, though Harry insists that if he can, Weasley will make it. 

"He knows you've been staying here?" Draco asks. 

Harry shrugs ruefully. "I didn't think I couldn't tell him," he says. 

"No, it's no problem," Draco says. "I only meant he'd have to know where you were if he was coming."

Harry nods, but Draco can tell they're both on edge. It's not just the raid, or what it means to finally have this be over. It's that Harry hasn't yet wrapped his head around letting other people help him. Harry still feels responsible when other people get hurt because someone is trying to kill him. It's that the last fight they had was because Draco couldn't see why Harry keeps pushing himself to exhaustion every day he goes into work. 

But tonight, the fire burns in Draco's hearth, and the minutes tick by, and eventually, Draco gets up from his armchair and moves to stand next to Harry. Harry's fingers are cold, despite the heat from the fire and his fingers curl tight against the back of Draco's hand. They stand there, one set of eyes on the yellow and orange flames and the other on the slowly ticking clock.


	17. Freedom

Harry has not taken his medication in weeks. If he stopped and thought about it, he would be able to give the exact number of days since he reached into his cupboard and pulled out one of the little white pills in the morning. He left what he has at his place, so he never takes the little pink one at night either, especially not when he stays over at Draco's. It's a bad habit he's picked up. He'd skipped a day, then skipped another, and then it hadn't seemed important because things were okay. But Harry can feel how everything is starting to bubble up underneath his skin. He feels pressure against his head on some days he has breakfast with Draco and Astoria. He feels a need to walk away and keep going, to just lock himself into a room and wait for everything to pass.

He feels it especially tonight, when Ron is running around London trying to catch would-be Death Eaters. Because, orphans of war or not, they've been trying to hurt Harry, but more than that, they've been hurting Muggles and murdering people. Harry's at home, while Ron throws himself into danger, and all because Harry decided he needed time away for himself. It had been selfish and no amount of justification from Draco will change that. Harry's paying for what he chose to do, and he'll deal with the consequences of that once the night is over. The same way he'll deal with still having pills in his cupboards at home when he should have run out weeks ago.

He hasn't been to see Dr Griffith at all this month, and those calls will come soon. The bright receptionist voice over the phone will talk to Hermione's parents eventually, because that's the only phone number Harry had been able to give. He backed himself into a corner there, he knows. Hermione will know soon, and Harry will have to explain why he made promises he didn't intend to keep. 

"Are you quite sure you're alright?" Draco asks. 

Harry pulls himself together and nods at Draco. They've been waiting for over three hours, neither of them moving except to loosen stiff muscles. If everything went well with the raid tonight, they will hear from Ron soon. Harry knows Ron won't leave him waiting. He'll send word through Hermione, or a Patronus. 

"It's late," Harry says. 

Draco squeezes his hand where they're holding onto each other. When Harry looks back at him, he's smiling, a warm reassuring smile that softens his face. Harry doesn't think he'll ever get tired of the way Draco Malfoy looks at him, of all that focus, even in the face of his parents' disapproval. A solid counterweight to all of Harry's coiled energy. They're good together. That is all that matters.

"I'm sure Weasley can handle himself," Draco says when Harry continues to look at him. "Kingsley wouldn't have let him on the task force, if he didn't think so, and I wouldn't be so calm handing over months of work if I didn't think Weasley could handle it." 

Harry grins, "Are you saying you think Ron's a good Auror?"

Draco pulls a predictable face of disgust. It's the same face Ron makes when Harry mentions something about Draco in passing and Ron realises he and Draco have things in common. 

"I'm merely saying that I have faith in Kingsley," Draco says. "Maybe even in Robards."

"Well you would," Harry says. "You're Robards favourite now. He talks about the DLF case all the time, and he keeps telling me that I should pay more attention to the way I file my cases. He gave me one of your old files on cursed objects as an example. He blocked out the name, but we did the Greyback run together, so I know who filed the cursed skull paperwork."

Draco laughs and the sound echoes in the silence of the house. Harry looks towards Astoria's bedroom, but the door stays closed. 

"Robards owes me for all the shit he gave me when I was doing cold cases," Draco says. "But yes, I do have particularly excellent organizational skills."

"And you're ready to have Robards as your boss?" Harry asks.

They haven't talked about what tonight means for Draco in great detail. Harry knows that if everything goes well and they manage to catch everyone in the files Draco and the rest of the team have been compiling, then Draco is free. Kingsley has offered him a job, a future where Draco can walk with his head held high, something that belongs to him, distinct from his parents. There is security in the job that Kingsley offers, and Harry knows that Draco is waiting on that. That despite the Ministry paying him over the last year or so, he still doubts where his place will be.

"It's one thing to have a former Death Eater helping the Ministry in secret," Draco has said in the past. "Quite another to have one do so publicly."

They need this to go well tonight.

"Dawlish has assured me that Robards is a tolerable boss," Draco says.

"If you don't like it, you can always go back to Curse-Breaking for Gringotts," Harry says. 

*

Draco knows what Harry's trying to do as they stand together in the dark. The fire in the fireplace is the only source of light and warmth. Even the ticking clock has fallen into the shadows, its hands disappearing into the wall. They have been waiting for a long time, and the night is calm, despite their waiting.

Harry knows how to push and Draco can feel him doing so now. There are careful hints in the things Harry has been saying all night. Things that Draco knows he has to face eventually. He knows that he has options should his parents decide they no longer want him. But, that is the source of his hesitation, that his parents might no longer want him. That his father will really turn his back on Draco if his mother does so as well. He would have gold and a place to live, but no parents. And that is always the problem, always where Draco's running thoughts take him. 

He has everything but the certainty of his family. He's not sure whether that is something he wants to gamble away yet. He hears it in Harry's voice, in the silence that emanates from Harry. He's never asked whether Draco is ready. Neither has Astoria. But Draco can read between the lines, between their assurances and the way Astoria tries to hide the sadness in her eyes. 

"I want you to be free to be who you are, Draco," she had said, the only time Draco asked.

Therein lie all their problems, in that everyone thinks Draco should be free, but no one is telling him how.

*

The flames in Draco's fireplace burn bright green at half-past three in the morning. Harry squeezes Draco's hand involuntarily and takes a step forward. 

"Who is it?" Harry asks. 

He can see Draco reaching into his pocket for his wand, and Harry knows it's the tension of the night, but he finds himself doing the same. They stand, Harry in front and Draco ready at his back. The flames rise to the top of the fireplace, a sudden burst of heat, and then Ron tumbles onto Draco's rug. 

"What the hell is this?" Ron asks.

Harry looks down to where Ron is pointing and he can see, just barely peeking out from under the coffee table, a small butter biscuit. 

"You had tea without me?" Ron asks, squinting at Harry in the dark. "Why are all the lights off?"

"It's nighttime," Draco says from Harry's left.

Ron gives Harry a pained look. "I'm not the one starting things here," he says.

Harry shakes his head even as he tries to hold back his smile. He flicks his wand and the lamp in the corner of the room blinks to life. In the new orange light, Ron's face looks paler than usual, his freckles stark against his face. 

"What happened?" Harry asks.

He can see Draco moving closer out of the corner of his eye. Ron throws one look around the room, lets his eyes fall on Draco, and then sinks into the nearest armchair. Draco gives a small pointed cough but Ron ignores him.

"Well, we did it," he says. "Caught the lot of them. It was almost too easy really. They weren't expecting anyone but Malfoy. One of them even asked us if he'd sent us. It drove Robards crazy when he realised that no one had escaped."

Harry frowns. "What do you mean too easy?"

Ron shrugs. "No one put up a fight," he says. "And everyone was where they were supposed to be. That's not how things usually work out. I thought Robards was just full of shit. Don't tell him I said that. But Dawlish reckons we either got lucky or something was about to go wrong."

Draco has made his way to the light of the fireplace and Harry can see the worry on his face. 

"Did anything go wrong?" Draco asks.

"No," Ron says. "We went through the list you gave us so many times, I can tell you Rookwood's exact shoe size. Everyone who was on that list is in Ministry custody, even the witch who runs the cafe."

"But something felt off?" Harry presses.

He knows Ron is thinking the same thing, of Alecto Carrow in Godric's Hollow.

"It isn't him," Ron says. 

"Isn't who?" Draco asks. 

Ron doesn't answer, but Harry says, "Voldemort."

Harry knows Draco well enough now to be able to tell how Draco reigns in his initial reaction. He goes stiff besides Harry, his eyes focusing on a spot in the distance. His inhales and exhales take on specific rhythms and Harry sees Ron notice it too.

"You alright there, Malfoy?" Ron asks. 

Draco turns to Ron with wide eyes. "Yes, I'm fine. Why would you ask?"

Ron shrugs and lets his eyes meet Harry's. Ron raises an eyebrow and Harry shakes his head subtly. 

"No reason," Ron says, turning back to Draco. 

"Why do you think the Dark Lord has anything to do with the DLF?" Draco asks Harry.

Harry shrugs, catches himself reaching for his scar without meaning to. He can't explain away the unease that Ron's words cause. It's not that Harry actually thinks Voldemort is back. It's as though there is some piece missing and Harry knows where it is and can't remember. It's like Mafalda Hopkirk all over again, just out of reach.

"Are you sure you caught everyone?" Harry asks.

Ron sighs. "Yeah, I'm sure," he says.

Harry can feel Draco's stare on the side of his face, but he doesn't know how to explain the gut feeling he has. They're missing something, but Harry also trusts that Draco did his job correctly. So the only explanation is that there is something Draco missed.

"The Dark Lord is dead," Draco says.

He sounds unsure and this wasn't Harry's intention. Tomorrow is a good day for all of them, but most especially Draco, and there isn't any reason for Harry to doubt that the job is done.

"Yes," Harry says. "Voldermort is dead and the DLF is done."

"And tomorrow you get a promotion," Ron says, waving from his spot on the armchair. "Robards couldn't shut up about it. He told anyone who would listen that you were the one who got all the intel. His crush on you is really embarrassing."

Harry laughs, and he can see Draco trying to hold back a smile. Harry feels a surge of affection for Ron, for how he's trying despite his reservations. He likes whatever is happening between them, the easy way Ron is making room for Draco, how Draco is taking the in. To see Draco and Ron in the same room, having civil conversation makes everything more real than anything else has done in the last month. 

"So it's over?" Harry asks.

Ron nods. 

Harry turns to Draco and the light of the fire catches in Draco's grey eyes. "Are you ready?" Harry asks him.

Draco reaches over and takes Harry's hand. "I'm ready," he says.

Ron, from the armchair, lets out a long, distressed sigh, and says, "I really hate it here."

*

The ballroom is empty save for the dais in the centre, bathed in the afternoon sunlight. Draco knows that Kingsley will be here soon, but he's come early to make sure he knows where his exits are. Rita Skeeter will be here tonight, as will other reporters. The Auror team will be present, Draco, his parents, Astoria. Everyone who Kingsley considers important enough. They're holding the press conference and the charity ball at the same time so that Kingsley can loosen the pockets of his most important donors by presenting them with real-time results. It's an ingenious move to get coverage for both a successful raid and a charity event. Draco almost envies the stroke of genius until he sees the guest list.

His parents will be here, but so will Astoria's parents. Daphne Greengrass will be here, Blaise and his mother, and a number of other rich witches and wizards. Everyone who Draco is supposed to be hiding from will be present in one room, and he'll have to navigate it all as Kingsley makes his announcements. 

He should go home. Draco knows better than to make the same mistake twice. He should just send his apologies to Kingsley and stay at home, pretend the last few months have been nothing. He can't do it, can't spend the whole night wondering who will let slip what. Dean Thomas is supposed to be here and Weasley is bringing his siblings. It'll not only be Draco's parents, Astoria's parents, and Harry, but also all of Harry's exes, his friends, his family. 

Draco turns intending to leave, but Harry's standing by the door to the ballroom, already dressed in forest green dress robes that brighten his eyes. His hair is messy on his head, but artfully so, as though Harry finally went to the stylist Draco had recommended. He looks polished and put together, all of his edges sharpened to a fine, pureblood shine. He looks, in the light of the chandelier, like an aristocrat ready to fit by Draco's side. 

"Thinking of running away?" Harry asks.

His tone is teasing, but Draco can see underneath the veneer now. He knows what worry looks like on Harry, how he hides it so well when he wants to. It takes effort to understand Harry, to find all the edges where he tries to hide. They're similar in that respect. Both of them enjoy hiding, though Harry does it only when it'll spare others, and Draco has done it every day of his life. 

"I'm not going anywhere," Draco says.

Once he's said it, he finds that he means it. There is nothing more important than what will happen tonight. He has worked for months trying to piece together the scraps Robards gave him, and then more months working to get all the information Robards needed for his task force. Draco needs to be here so that he can watch his father's face when Kingsley announces that Draco will be joining the Aurors.

"I know we can't go to this thing together," Harry says. "But I wanted to catch you before everything starts in case we don't see each other until tomorrow."

"Oh?" Draco asks.

Harry smiles, an easy, boyish charm that works for him. Draco grins back as Harry steps into his arms, his nose right by Draco's. Harry smells like Draco's shampoo and Draco's cologne, and his hair smells like the pomade Draco uses. Draco inhales and Harry's mouth is warm by Draco's ear. Harry's hands are warm around Draco's back and around his neck. 

"You deserve this," Harry says. "Promise you'll enjoy it?"

Draco nods against Harry's face, and the scrape of Harry's stubble against Draco's face is a reminder of all the nights they've slept next to each other. 

"I promise," Draco says.

Harry pulls Draco closer, just enough that Draco can feel the strength of Harry's hands. Then Harry lets go, presses a quick kiss to Draco's cheek, and steps away. They look at each other as Harry takes another step back until the distance between them is appropriate for the coworkers they're supposed to be. 

"Have fun tonight," Harry says, winks, and is gone.

-

Kingsley standing on the dais at the centre of the room is always impressive, his low voice, carrying despite the number of people in the ballroom. Draco watches from his spot by the front, his table far to the left of Harry's. Astoria's parents hadn't been able to make it, but Daphne sits to Draco's left and Astoria to his right. His parents are opposite them and the rest of the space is filled by Robards, Dawlish and their guests. 

Astoria is dressed in lilac robes that match Draco's dark purple ones, her long hair falling in curls down her back. She looks stunning as always, a perfect addition to Draco's arm, and Draco is getting tired of the self-satisfied smile on his father's face. Draco's mother has noticed something is wrong. She keeps staring, at Draco, at Astoria, at Daphne, and then the others at the table. Robards and Dawlish had been pleasant enough when Astoria had introduced herself, but Draco can tell they're impressed. It all feels so fabricated even though Astoria has been deflecting Narcissa's questions all evening. Daphne knows, and Draco feels as though his dress robes are suffocating him every time he looks at her. She hasn't said anything, but she knows, and that is enough to unsettle Draco.

"And of course," Kingsley is saying. "I would be remiss if I didn't acknowledge the person responsible for the success of this mission."

Astoria discreetly elbows Draco. It's unnecessary because, at the change in Kingsley's voice, Draco's body goes cold. He feels his heart beating hard in his chest. The faint tremor is back in his hands and the tips of his fingers feel numb as he grabs his glass of water. He takes a sip and it feels like sand going down his throat. This is it. 

"Draco Malfoy has been working undercover with the Ministry over the past year. He built the case that allowed us to catch the members of the DLF," Kingsley says. "His work and dedication have paid off immensely, and the Ministry would not be where it is today without him. It's an honour to welcome him officially as part of the Auror team."

There is absolute silence following Kingsley's words, and all Draco can hear is the beating of his heart in his ears. Astoria's hand is cold in his, but she's a solid presence and Draco does his best to focus on her next to him. He can't turn to look for Harry even though it's what he wants. There are too many witnesses.

"Minister," calls a voice from behind the tables.

It's a reporter Draco doesn't recognize. She stands, pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose, and asks, "If I may, why the secrecy?"

Her question snaps the reporters out of their stupor. All of them jump up in a mad fury of flashing cameras and start talking at once.

"Why did it take so long for the DLF to be brought to justice if Mr Malfoy has been with you for months?"

"Do you have any reservations about hiring a former Death Eater, whose father was also a known Death Eater?"

"Do you think Mr Malfoy has what it takes to be part of the Ministry?"

"Do you have any qualms about asking some of the finest witches and wizards in the country to trust a former Death Eater?"

"What does Harry Potter have to say about this?"

Every head turns to Harry's table as chairs scrape against the floor and people move aside to get a better look. Draco stares at Astoria's hand in his, counts out his breaths. He catches a glimpse of his father's disapproving face, at the clear disdain for the internal turmoil Draco is dealing with. His mother's eyes are kinder, though she purses her lips when Draco exhales shakily. Draco almost misses the shake of her head, and when he sees it, it's almost like he can breathe easier. She's right, he knows. 

Malfoys don't cry, they survive. 

"Pardon me, Minister," Draco calls.

He sounds detached to his own ears, so he can imagine what his face must look like when the people nearest turn to him. Kingsley hears him and the reporters notice the change in Kingsley's attention almost immediately. 

"Yes, Draco?" Kingsley asks.

His soothing voice carries much better than Draco's does, and the room falls silent as Kingsley's attention shifts to Draco. 

"If I may," Draco says. "I think it's only fair that I answer the questions since it was mostly my research that was used for yesterday's raid. And these questions, uninspired as they are, seem to be about my loyalties or lack thereof."

Draco watches Kingsley's eyes move over to Harry's table and Draco can see Harry sitting back down from the corner of his eye. Kingsley turns back to Draco and nods.

"I would like to make it very clear to everyone in this room that this is still a charity ball," Kinglsey says. "And once Mr Malfoy has answered all questions related to the DLF, we will consider this case officially closed."

He looks at Draco when he says it and Draco can almost feel Rita Skeeter's eyes on the side of his face. After he's done answering questions, it's over. It'll all be out of his hands. An odd sense of relief and panic washes over Draco as he stands. Astoria gives his hand one last squeeze, her smile encouraging as she blows him a kiss. Next to her Daphne gives Draco a bored, unimpressed look, and Draco almost smiles. 

The walk to the dais is over before Draco realises what he's doing. He passes Kingsley who takes his hand and wishes him luck. Then Draco is in front of the microphone, looking out into the room and the reporters standing at the back. Lucius watches Draco, his face impassive, eyes guarded, and his back ramrod straight. He's trying hard not to look too proud and Draco finds himself angry. He can feel the rage bubbling up from underneath his skin, breaking past the barriers Draco has built to protect himself. 

Narcissa is still watching him with that knowing look, as though she's figured out a secret Draco isn't privy to yet. She meets Draco's eyes, and he watches her look at Astoria, then back to Draco. Narcissa raises one eyebrow, and then, deliberately, she turns her eyes to Harry's table. 

Draco is too surprised to stop himself. His own eyes move to Harry's table on the far left now. Harry's sitting, facing Draco, in between Charlie and Ginny Weasley. Draco tries and fails not to feel a pang of disappointment at the attractive picture the three of them make. Harry looks handsome in his robes, at ease in the presence of so many Weasleys. Draco can see Granger who has turned in her seat to look at him. Her eyes are assessing when Draco catches her stare. She looks almost sympathetic as she looks from Draco to reporters at the back.

Draco follows her stare, sees Rita Skeeter, smiling, her bright red mouth shining in the flashing lights. She grins when she catches Draco's eyes, a predatory smile that lets Draco know there is no escape. She heard Kingsley. She knows what it means once Draco steps off the dais. He feels like there's a target on his chest and Rita Skeeter holds the only wand. 

Draco looks away, his eyes drawn back to Harry's table, to Harry's reassuring smile and the wink he sends Draco's way. Draco nods and Harry mouths, "I love you," and just like that, the band around Draco's chest eases. Nothing has changed, except that Harry loves Draco and somehow, that is more than enough.

"Good evening," Draco says, turning to the reporters at the back of the room. "As I understand it, there are questions for me."

The reporters fire off dozens of questions, each of them more ridiculous than the last. Draco hears someone ask whether or not it's true that Draco hunts werewolves for sport at Malfoy Manor. Someone else asks what Draco was doing at Gringotts if he was working at the Ministry. Draco lets them fire off a second round of questions.

"If that is all," he says, drolly.

The room breaks out into quiet laughter and Draco turns bored eyes on the reporters. 

"The work I do speaks for itself," he says. "My name and my family are not things I can control but they're things that must be acknowledged. I accept the mistakes of my past and seek only to do my part in rectifying some of the damage I have caused. Whether I will be good at my job or not remains to be seen, but I have always shown exceptional skill both at Hogwarts and in my day to day job. In fact, there was only ever one person who has managed to beat me when it comes to studies."

Draco turns and the room follows his eyes to Hermione Granger. She gives Draco a dryly amused look. 

"Nice try," she mouths and that acknowledgement means more than Draco expected. 

The reporters shout more questions, but Draco stops listening. He looks at Ron Weasley who is shaking his head and glaring at the reporters. Draco looks to his father and Lucius Malfoy has never sat so straight. He leans over to speak to Robards and the easy familiarity there, the way Lucius is clearly trying to garner favour with Draco's new boss, is as infuriating as it is expected. Draco knows who his father is. He knows what his father wants, what will make him and keep him happy. He knows that there is no escaping his life at the Manor.

Draco looks to Astoria and realises that he loves her. She has weathered this storm with him, fought those silent battles by his side. She kept him safe even though he never got around to asking her to. He owes her and he knows that no matter what happens, he will never find a way to truly repay her. She's beautiful in the light from the chandelier, long brown hair falling over her shoulders as she watches him. Being with her hasn't been a mistake, no matter what the papers will print tomorrow. He loves her. He has loved her almost from the moment she took his arm and led him into the ballroom at Malfoy Manor, and he will continue to love her once this is all over. 

It's a pity, Draco thinks as they look at each other, that things weren't different. They might have had a beautiful life together. 

"I'm done taking questions," Draco says. "But before I go, I would like to say one last thing."

The room goes silent again and Draco can see Rita Skeeter practically salivating. Draco dismisses her, turns his full attention to Harry. He's still smiling and Draco knows that what happens next will be solely on himself. He's choosing to do this, regardless of what his parents might think, regardless of what happens next. He's going to do this because it feels like the right time. Everything within him has settled down to a faint buzz, something more encouraging and less traitorously panicked. 

He turns back to the room, at all of the witches and wizards, at Robards and Dawlish, at Kingsley Shacklebolt, the Minister for Magic. Draco wants to do this, but he finds that the words stick to his tongue. He can feel his heart at his throat and he knows that if he speaks now, his voice will not be steady. He doesn't understand why it's so difficult to just say what he wants to say. 

He looks at his mother and father and as they watch him, Draco knows there's nothing else he can do. There is nothing more he has to give them. He's done. He has squeezed himself dry to keep their family together, to get their name out from where Lucius had buried it. He's always going to disappoint them and doing so now changes nothing.

Draco looks out into the room, right into Rita Skeeter's smiling face, and with bravery he didn't know existed within him, says, "I'm gay."

*

#### 

SCANDAL AT THE CHARITY BALL

##### May 5th

_Reporters at the Annual Charity Ball, an affair meant to raise funds for the Ministry, were surprised to find that Minister of Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt has kept the Wizarding World in the dark with regards to recent Ministry hires. Kingsley Shacklebolt, who served as Head Auror under former Ministers Cornelius Fudge and Rufus Scrimgeour, has refused to answer questions regarding his hire of former Death Eater Draco Lucius Malfoy. This comes after the Minister announced during yesterday's charity ball that Curse-Breaker Malfoy was, in large part, responsible for the apprehension of the group of nouveau Death Eaters known as the Dark Lord's Faithful…(cont'd on pg. 4)._

#### POTTER AND MALFOY: A ROMANCE FOR THE AGES

##### May 5th

_Underneath brilliant chandelier lights and the romantic tremors of violins, Curse-Breaker, and now Auror-in-training, Draco Lucius Malfoy announced to the world that he would be calling off his engagement with Astoria Greengrass and pursuing a relationship with War Hero and Britain's Most Eligible Bachelor, two years running, Harry James Potter. Despite the rumours circulating that Mr Malfoy has been in a secret relationship with Mr Potter since they were students at Hogwarts, Mr Malfoy has been linked to various other people of varying genders over the years. Sources close to Mr Malfoy tell reporters that Mr Malfoy and Blaise Zabini, the only heir to the Zabini fortune, had a tumultuous and eventually catastrophic relationship over the course of their Hogwarts years. How Harry Potter is taking this news remains to be seen, although…(cont'd on A2)_

#### QUIBBLER NEWS: DRACO MALFOY'S LIFE IS NO ONE'S BUSINESS

##### May 5th

_It has come to the attention of this magazine's editor that news sources around Wizarding Britain have taken to speculating about the announcement made by Auror-in-training Draco Lucius Malfoy. In a night meant to celebrate the success of a months-long Ministry raid, Mr Malfoy was meant to be the night's shining star. Instead, news of Mr Malfoy's success was overshadowed by speculation about his relationships, both with his former fiancée and his past romantic interests. Since, however, this publication considers these matters to be private and personal, we will focus instead on the successful arrest of over fifteen witches and wizards, whose single aim was to spread fear and mistrust in an already fraught post-war society... (cont'd on page 13)._

#### 

FISTS ABOUND AT MINISTRY FUNCTION

##### May 5th

_Despite the late hour and the presence of over fifty Aurors, former Aurors, and Aurors-in-training, guests at the Annual Ministry Charity Ball pulled both wands and fists last night. Reporters at the scene have stated that after Draco Lucius Malfoy, newly out in both job and social life, announced the end to his engagement with Astoria Greengrass, Ms Greengrass's father pulled his wand and challenged Mr Malfoy to a duel. In response, Lucius Malfoy stepped in for his son and both fathers duelled for the honour of their respective children. In the midst of that chaos, Astoria Greengrass was seen running out of the room, her eyes red-rimmed and her hair coming undone from her elegant curls. The former Chosen One Harry James Potter, Auror-in-training Ronald Bilius Weasley, and First Sub-Secretary to the Assistant Head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures Hermione Jean Granger joined the fray in an attempt to prevent injury to guests in attendance. At the end of the night, what started as a squabble between fathers morphed into an all-out brawl as people fought their way out from the centre of flying curses. It is rumoured that Harry Potter was last seen dragging away a screaming Ronald Weasley who had punched Lucius Malfoy, while Holyhead Harpie starting Chaser Ginevra Molly Weasley…(cont'd on page 2)._

#### LOVERS' SQUABBLE: THE ROCKY RELATIONSHIP OF HARRY POTTER AND DRACO MALFOY

##### May 5th

_Last night's Ministry Charity Ball was the source of various scandals brought to light. Towards the end of what turned out to be an invigorating event, Harry Potter was seen arguing with former Gringotts Curse-Breaker Draco Malfoy. The two seemed awfully close after the end of a brawl that ended with two emergency visits to St. Mungo's and four black eyes. However, what started as a romantic rendezvous in the midst of a small battle quickly turned into a yelling match. When asked whether or not the rumours about the two dating were true, Harry Potter yelled, "It's been literally one minute. Can you leave us alone?" What this means for the future of the two remains to be seen. Especially as Draco Malfoy was seen leaving with Blaise Zabini and Astoria Greengrass later in the evening…(cont'd on page 3)._

#### RITA SKEETER TELLS ALL

##### May 5th

_Reporters managed to track down famed journalist and published author, Rita Skeeter, to ask her about how she was able to get so much detail on the now infamous secret relationship between Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy. "I've known about Harry and Draco since the beginning of their relationship," Rita Skeeter tells reporters. "Though of course, I was asked to keep it secret. Can't have too much negative attention on The Chosen One. Imagine the scandal if people had known Harry Potter was dating a former Death Eater for almost as long as he's been in Auror training. Not the wisest choice in an Auror if you ask me. Of course, Shackelbolt has been around a fair share, and the public seems to trust his opinion…" (cont'd on B14)._

*

"So," Ginny says, grinning at Harry, "You and Rita Skeeter are on a first-name basis now?"

She's sprawled out on the floor in the family room at Grimmauld Place, her red hair spread out over the grey carpet as she reads the Prophet. As she waves her wand lazily in the air, the little stars dancing above her somersault and spread out over the ceiling above her head, casting the room in a bluish glow. Hermione makes an appreciative sound from where she's laying down on the sofa by the fireplace. Her hair has come undone from its bun and her curls hang around her head in a cloud of hair. Ron, who is on the floor by Hermione's couch, sports a black eye but he refuses to let Hermione heal it until Harry lets her heal him. 

The left side of Harry's face is one throbbing mass of pain, but he's still mostly mad that Lucius Malfoy managed to land a punch before Harry could drag Draco away. The whole night had been a mess after Draco had announced he was leaving Astoria Greengrass because he was gay. It was, Harry has to admit, a rather ballsy move on Draco's part, if completely inappropriate for a Ministry function if Hermione's to be believed.

"I stand by it," Draco had said when Harry caught him at the end of the night. "If I didn't do it then, I was never going to do it, and I'm tired of being a coward."

Harry had wanted to tell him a number of things, but Rita Skeeter had found them, and behind her, a group of some twenty journalists had been holding out microphones. Harry had lost his temper, Draco had pulled him away, and with the help of Blaise Zabini, they'd gathered their friends and Disapparated. Grimmauld Place had been the logical choice for a meetup since Harry had been gone for so long, the Prophet reporters didn't come anymore. 

Now, here they are, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Harry, Draco, Blaise, and even Pansy Parkinson. Astoria was in the kitchen last time Harry saw her. 

Harry turns from his spot by the fire to watch Draco and his friends in the corner farthest from the rest of them. The three Slytherins huddle together, whispering furiously. Harry watches Draco's increasingly agitated head shakes in the face of Pansy and Blaise's serious looks. At the end of whatever conversation they're having, Draco turns away and stalks over to Harry's armchair. He takes a seat on the arm of Harry's chair and turns bored eyes on the rest of the room.

"Hey," Harry says, quietly.

He can see Ginny and Ron turn to look at him and Draco, but Harry ignores them in favour of watching the play of emotions on Draco's face. Draco sighs, one long-suffering expression of distress before Pansy comes up to his other side. She rolls her eyes at Harry and pokes Draco in the arm.

"Stop moping and move over," she says. "If anyone should have a seat here, it should be me. I'm tired of listening to you complain about how you can never go home again."

Draco stands at Pansy's insistent shoves and she takes a seat on Harry's armchair. She turns almost sideways to look Harry up and down. Her brown eyes are shrewd as she watches Harry and he grins amicably at her. Harry can see Draco rolling his eyes, and as he's starting to say something, Blaise comes up to Draco's other side. Harry can't help the way his eyes catch on Draco and Blaise, the hand Blaise puts on Draco's shoulder, how they look at each other and understand things Harry can't read in their eyes. Draco opens his mouth and then Pansy prods Harry on the side, just as Astoria walks back into the room.

"Did anyone else read the news today?" Astoria asks, walking in with a stack of newspapers in her arms. "Apparently, I was so distraught last night that I ruined my hair."

"Harry's supposedly upset because Malfoy is cheating on him with both you and Blaise," Ginny says from the floor. 

Harry's eyes drift back over to Draco and Blaise. He aims for casual, but he can see Pansy eyeing him from her seat on the arm of Harry's chair. She says nothing, but Harry recognizes the knowing look from having been the recipient of Hermione's so often. It's nothing, Harry tells himself, just fragmented thoughts that mean nothing. It's just that Blaise and Draco are the same height and when they stand together, Harry can see how well they fit. It's only that Astoria is in the room and Draco and she look good together, too.

"You'll never guess what you and Blaise have been doing at Hogwarts for years and years," Astoria says.

She's delighted, even more so when Ginny sits up and hands off her Prophet to Hermione so she can take some from Astoria. 

"I punched three Aurors in the face last night, according to page two of the Prophet," Ginny says. 

"No," Astoria gasps.

Harry watches her reaching for the paper Hermione has, and to Harry's immense surprise, Hermione moves over to make room for Astoria. They read together, and Harry can't tell if it's Astoria's magnetic personality or the night they've all had, but it's almost as though they're already friends. Even Ron, who has always been more cautious about who he lets into his life, reaches over and takes one of the papers from Astoria.

"Oh, look at that," Ron says, waving the magazine in Harry's direction. "The Quibbler is making sense again."

"Hang on," Pansy says, standing up. "Lovegood's rag?"

"Hey," Ron says as Pansy reaches him. 

"Well," Blaise says. "It is a rag. Pansy would know, she works with the Prophet."

"You work for the Prophet?" Ginny asks from the floor.

Pansy makes a shushing motion and takes the paper from Ron. Harry watches Ron's open-mouthed surprise, as Pansy takes a seat on the couch behind him. She kicks her feet out gently, and Ron shoots her a glare but moves forward to give her room.

"You brought her here," Blaise says.

Harry looks up, but Blaise is talking to Draco.

"You and I both know that if we hadn't told her where we were, she would have found a way to murder us and make it look like an accident," Draco says, lowering his voice. "Besides, I kind of wanted her here after last night."

"To talk some sense into you." Blaise agrees. 

Draco sighs and Harry watches the frown lines on Draco's forehead. He looks exhausted, the deep blue-black underneath his eyes stark against his pale skin. Draco's left hand shakes slightly, and Harry knows all of them should be sleeping. He watches as Blaise says something else to Draco and joins the group on the floor. Ginny moves her legs to make room for Blaise and Pansy puts her feet on Blaise's knees. Blaise, always so elegant and put together, looks like any one of them sitting among friends. After last night, their presence here relaxes Harry. They're all safe, even Draco's friends, and he can't bring himself to leave for sleep.

"Hey," Draco says.

Harry looks up and Draco is watching him, a fond look on his eyes. Harry stares at him a moment, looks back out at the room of their friends. The different conversations fall into a buzz in the background and Harry grins, wide and carefree at Draco.

"You came out to a roomful of important witches and wizards," Harry says.

Draco closes his mouth on what he was going to say. He looks uncertain for a moment, a trace of the Draco that's been hiding peeking through. But then Draco shrugs, ruefully and ungraceful, and so unlike him, all Harry can do is stare. 

"Yes," Draco says. "I suppose I did."

Harry, almost helplessly, turns his face up at him and says, "I love you."

And Draco Malfoy, tired and half-terrified, says, "I do too."


	18. An Inhale

Narcissa Malfoy, for all her faults, has never thought herself an unreasonable mother. She has played things too close to heart at times but it was never her intention to push her son away the way she has. She has done her best to raise Draco to fit into the moulds of the world, to show him love and compassion. She loves him above all things, more than she loves her husband and herself. She will do whatever it takes to protect him. So it is with this in mind that she goes to see her husband. 

He's sitting at the long kitchen table, the polished wood shining in the darkness of the kitchen. His right eye is fully healed, courtesy of her healing spells, and the shadows of the night rake across his face in long gashes. He looks scarred, and though Narcissa is familiar with the ones Lucius carries on his body, she doesn't yet know all the scars he holds inside.

They never married for love even though they did get there eventually. They were children when they met, destined for each other since they were toddlers whose parents had put them together the moment they could hold themselves upright. They stood no chance against the presence of their parents, always looming high above them from the moment they had consciousness. Narcissa was the youngest daughter of one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, and as such, her right should have been to marry whoever she pleased so long as she didn't embarrass the family. She could have chosen her husband, known him before she married him.

But Andromeda had run off with a Muggle-born and Narcissa was left with the burden of cleansing the family name. She never stood a chance against her mother's silent but forceful reminders and her father's constant parties. Lucius was the best her parents could do, the one person, whose name and money were enough to cover Andromeda's mistake. Her father had arranged everything and Narcissa, beautiful and bold, had done all she could to make sure Lucius wanted his parents to sign their engagement contract. 

They were children, barely nineteen, both of them as beautiful as they would ever be, full of life and magic. Lucius had always been ambitious, had fought with the Dark Lord in the first war, had gone underground and inserted himself back into the Wizarding World afterwards. They had worked well together, Narcissa and her quiet intelligence, and Lucius and his outward, almost desperate reach for the top. They complimented each other, believed in the same things, and Narcissa had learned to respect Lucius. 

They made it. They had a son, and in between the crying and the fistful of mashed food Draco threw at them, Narcissa thinks she fell in love. It was an unnoticeable thing like the morning dew is unseen until one steps into the tall grass. She knows it must have happened because when Draco was two years old and zipping along on a broomstick, she was already in love. She would have followed Lucius wherever he took them, would have trusted in what he was trying to do.

Except now Draco is unhappy, and she stands by the kitchen doorway, looking at her husband's form bathed in shadows, she knows that the different forms of love matter. She loves Lucius, but she will always love her son more.

"We should talk," she says.

Her voice echoes in the silent kitchen, faint tremors through the night that seem to bounce off Lucius. He curls in on himself and Narcissa doesn't recognize the man at her kitchen table. He's a ghost of the man she married, none of his fire, none of his ambition. He fights only his son because he's afraid to be beaten by the outside world. 

She's tired of him.

"Did you know what he would say?" she tries again.

Lucius shakes his head. "I had some idea," he says.

"You knew," and it's not a question anymore. 

She watches Lucius raise his head, the shadows under his eyes, the way his hand won't stop shaking. Narcissa doesn't know when they grew so far apart that she has missed the changes in him. She should have known. She should have reached out to Draco sooner.

"I won't have him be a stranger in his home," she says. "I won't let you hurt him."

Lucius watches her, detached. "It doesn't matter now," he says. "It's over."

"What do you mean?" she asks, though she thinks she's starting to understand.

"I wanted his life to be easier than ours," Lucius says and she knows the sorrow in his tone is real. "This will be so much harder for him. You know this as well as I do."

Narcissa thinks of the charity ball, of how Draco stood at the dais, his face set as he told the world his secret. She has never seen him look so certain. 

"He is stronger than either of us ever expected," Narcissa says. "That is something we both know as well."

"He helped Harry Potter escape the night the Dark Lord punished all of us."

Narcissa smiles for the first time. "And you worry about him?"

"He is my son," Lucius says.

Narcissa remembers her father, red-faced and furious the night Andromeda left. Her father had confounded kinship with ownership too, and so had lost Andromeda. 

"He is not your property," she says. "He is his own man, and what he chooses to do with his life is out of our control now, Lucius."

"It can't be, Cissy," he says, and the use of her nickname is a deeper wound than Narcissa expected.

She loves him still, despite the mess they find themselves in. They have always been better together and she will not leave him now. 

"He's not ours, Lucius," she says. "Let him go or you'll lose him."

Lucius says nothing and for tonight, there is nothing more Narcissa can do. She gives him one last look and then heads to her rooms for the night.

-

She doesn't use the Floo to call him, though she wants to. Narcissa knows that if Draco wants to speak with her, he must do so when he's ready, not when she wants him. Instead, she sends an owl the next morning with his favourite chocolates and a note that says she loves him. She thinks it'll be days before he's ready to see her, but that evening, Draco shows up in front of the Manor. 

For the first time in his life, Draco sends word with the gate. Narcissa imagines her son in the late-spring sunlight, standing like a stranger outside of his home. She thinks of Lucius in the sitting room, cold and seemingly uncaring. He will come around, Narcissa knows. Whether Draco will wait around long enough for that remains to be seen, but there is nothing Narcissa can do about that now.

She waves the message away and makes her way to the front door. Lucius looks up when she passes and she stops for a moment.

"He's here," she says. "Will you speak to him?"

Lucius looks at her and she knows his answer will be no.

"Not today," he says.

Narcissa nods and makes her way out to the front door. She opens the large wooden doors and waits for her son to walk up their driveway. When he's close enough, she sees that he's wearing the robes she bought him for Christmas, the silver that matches with his eyes. He's polished to perfection, every inch the son of Lucius Malfoy. But as she watches him, she sees something else that she can't quite place.

As Draco reaches her, he says, "Did you mean it?"

Narcissa looks at him and she can almost place what is about him that's changed. It's not overconfidence. She has seen this in him over his life when he spoke to his friends, or to those who he rightly believed were beneath him. There is something in the set of his shoulders, something in the quality of his voice.

"Did I mean what?" she asks.

"Did you mean it when you said you loved me?"

His voice wavers on the last two words and Narcissa imagines the nights he must have stayed awake wondering the same thing. She doesn't know how he will ever forgive her for the pain she has caused him. But she looks at him, and she can see the edges where he seems softer like something has filed the Lucius Malfoy edges, and left Draco in its place.

"Of course, I meant it," she says. "I have always, and will always love you. No matter what."

*

Draco stands outside of the Manor doors, the sunlight beaming on the back of his neck. His clothes feel too tight and the collar of his shirt is choking him. He can feel his father in the Manor like a ghostly presence emanating through the Manor walls. That his father isn't out here says everything. But his mother is here and that too means something.

He looks at her, shorter than him now, her blonde hair falling loose over her shoulders. She has not dressed yet, and in the morning light, she looks beautiful.

"I love you," she says.

And when she repeats it, Draco has no idea how he could have ever doubted her.


	19. An Exhale

#### 

MALFOY UNLEASHED

##### 

June 5th

_Prophet reporters caught Draco Lucius Malfoy, former Gringotts Curse-Breaker and current Auror-in-training, and Harry James Potter, Chosen One and current Ministry favourite for the position of Assistant to the Head Auror, coming out of a Muggle club in London. It is assumed the pair were there to celebrate Mr Malfoy's twenty-first birthday, but things took a turn for the worse when a group of Muggles bumped into Draco Malfoy outside of the club. Moments later, Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy were seen arguing in the streets of London before they Disapparated, presumably to where the two have been staying since Mr Malfoy's announcement that he was cancelling his engagement with Astoria Greengrass. Since the Muggle club, Dreamer's Bar, is not under Ministry oversight, it is impossible to determine whether Mr Malfoy will face consequences for his actions tonight. What remains true, however, is that perhaps Britain's Chosen One doesn't know what he's getting himself into…(cont'd on pg. A4)._

*

The rotating lights flash over Draco's face, bright yellows, blues, reds, and white. He blinks against the bright lights and feels the heat from the bodies around him, all of them moving to the loud bass thumping beneath the DJ's record. He can feel Harry's arms around him, the breathless laughter, and the sharp scent of artificial sweetener from spilt drinks. Draco can feel people bumping into him from all sides. He moves closer to Harry and the music shifts to something slower, though no less loud. Harry shifts closer, pulling Draco in by the arm around Draco's neck. The fingers of his other hand move restlessly against Draco's side, and Draco allows Harry to move them away from the centre of the dancefloor.

They make it to the bar after careful manoeuvring. Draco watches Harry bump into three different people on their way out, and he swears he sees someone slipping a piece of paper into Harry's back pocket. Draco very carefully pretends he doesn't see it when Harry passes the paper over to Nathan, the bartender, who gets rid of it on the other side of the bar. 

The night is loud and Draco doesn't owe anyone anything for this night. Pansy and Blaise have things prepared for him the next day and Draco promised his mother they would have tea. But today, on the actual day of his birthday, he has Harry in the darkness of the Dreamer's Bar and Nathan, the bartender, flirting outrageously as he hands Draco a drink. It's so easy to let himself get carried away by the music and the atmosphere, the general air of faint indifference that passes through everyone's faces when they see that Harry and Draco are together. No one here cares what Harry and Draco do, so it's not hard to let Harry pull him in for quick kisses in between drinks.

But it's not just that. 

It's that Draco feels the shift within him that's been present since he announced the end of his engagement with Astoria. Something inside him is gone. It's left him less encumbered, as though whatever was there took away from him. Part of it is that now that his parents know that he's gay, there's nothing worse that can scare him. His mother knows and she loves him, despite whatever his father may think. The only people who Draco worried about besides his mother were Astoria and Harry. But Astoria had laughed herself into a coughing fit at the look on Rita Skeeter's face when Draco had come out at the Charity Ball, and Blaise had had to escort her out the room. And Harry's here with Draco, and his hands are just as hot as Draco remembers, and his mouth is just as intoxicating. 

"Let's go home," Harry whispers into Draco's ear.

They've been staying at Draco's now that Astoria has left on her trip around Europe. She sent Draco one postcard this past week, though Draco knows Pansy has received letters daily. He thinks even Granger's getting owls from Astoria but Draco hasn't had a chance to ask Harry about it.

After the night they all spent at Grimmauld Place, Draco had suggested they go back to Draco's since it was still the least known place between it and Harry's flat. So they'd gone there, and ever since Astoria had left for her trip, Harry hasn't mentioned leaving and Draco hasn't asked Harry if he plans to go back to his own place. 

They've been staying there together for almost a week now and it's as easy as it was in the cottage in Cheshire. Most days Draco wakes before Harry. He showers and has time to prepare what they'll have for breakfast before he has to go wake up Harry. They'll go into the office together, and though Draco's been paired with Longbottom for now, the four of them share an office. So they always go home together, neither of them specifying where they're going, but always ending up at Draco's. Harry will always take longer than Draco to get to sleep, but Harry hasn't complained about not feeling at home in the little house they share.

They're making it work, and the way their lives have so seamlessly welded together, leaves Draco with a sense of certainty that makes him feel like he can do anything. Like how today, after work, Harry had suggested they go out for Draco's birthday and Draco had said yes without thinking twice. They'd picked the Dreamer's Bar because it was still the one place where they weren't bothered. And despite his initial misgivings about Nathan the bartender, Draco finds that Nathan's actually good company. He has a myriad of stories about Harry and Dean Thomas that Draco takes a keen interest in, if only because of how embarrassed Harry seems to get.

The atmosphere is good, but Draco will be the first to admit that he prefers staying in bed with Harry. So he's not opposed when Harry mentions going home again. They bid goodbye to Nathan who insists on another drink in honour of Draco's birthday. He gets the people nearest them to join in and Draco smiles at a group of attractive strangers who are overly excitable and half-drunk. Then Harry and he wave to Nathan and push through the crowd to the exit.

Outside, the warm June air washes over them as Muggles in the street swerve to avoid Harry and Draco on the sidewalk. A group of girls passing by bump into them and Draco reaches out to steady the one who's fallen against him. She thanks him, sees Harry next to Draco, the name of the club, and winks.

"Nice one," she says, nodding to Harry.

Draco rolls his eyes but it's too late. 

"Nice one?" Harry asks, raising an eyebrow suggestively.

"She meant me," Draco says.

Harry's laughter is happy and loud in the London streets. His green eyes are bright and his face is half-hidden in the shadows produced from the streetlights. Harry's almost bent over in laughter, and Draco takes the opportunity to really look at Harry. His laughter is contagious, that simmering of warmth buzzing along Draco's skin as he listens to Harry. He's not even bothered that Harry's laughing at him. The night is warm and the Muggles of London, walking by, provide enough coverage that Draco can lean into Harry and kiss him.

"Let's go home," Draco says.

Harry grins at him, charming and wide. "Yeah," he says. "Lets."

*

#### TENSIONS RISE AT FORTESCUE CAFE

##### June 15th

_Harry James Potter and Draco Lucius Malfoy's relationship seems to be on rocks after the couple was seen arguing for the third time this week. The argument took place outside of Fortescue's Cafe, on the afternoon of the Ministry function promoting better relationships with those released from Azkaban for minor crimes during the war. In an effort to promote better relationships between so-called purebloods and those with Muggle ancestry, the Ministry has been presenting a front of forgiveness. But it seems that the Boy Who Lived doesn't agree. In fact, he disagrees so much that he's put his relationship with his current paramour, Draco Lucius Malfoy, the son of a Death Eater and suspected Death Eater himself, on hold. How long this tumultuous relationship can last when obstacle after obstacle seems to pop up at every turn remains to be seen…(cont'd on pg. 3)_

*

Harry hasn't pressed Draco about talking to his father because Harry doesn't think that Draco has to talk to his father if he doesn't want to. But it's mid-June and the warm weather means that Draco isn't wearing cloaks anymore. When they go to Diagon Alley, Harry sees Draco in the sunlight and it's Cheshire all over again, bright beams of light on Draco's hair, on his eyelashes. He takes to wearing looser clothing but always the neat, polished edges that Harry hasn't fully smoothed out. No matter how often he runs his hands through Draco's hair or pulls him off to the side to kiss him. There's something sharp underneath every action, as though whatever happened at Malfoy Manor the day after the Ministry Charity Ball has chipped off a part of Draco that's never going to smooth over.

It's that Draco catches sight of Fortescue's closed doors, its peeling white and green paint, the lopsided menu on the outside, and there's something so sad in his face, it's almost heartbreaking.

"What is it?" Harry asks.

Draco shrugs. "I liked coming in here," he says.

They stop for a moment to look at the torn awning and the closed shades. The outside is still the same as when Fortescue offered Harry ice cream back in the summer when Sirius escaped Azkaban. He hasn't been inside after the new renovations, but Draco says the comfortable tables had been replaced with sleek booths and exceptional coffee. He can imagine the mess it'll be inside, what with the number of Aurors who were there for the raid. 

"Someone should buy it," Harry says.

He can tell Draco considers it for a brief moment, and Harry wants to ask what it is about Fortescue's that holds so many memories for Draco. He can't imagine that mild-mannered, friendly Fortescue ever held any appeal to the Malfoys. 

"Pansy and I started talking again when Fortescue's reopened," Draco says.

This, too, is new with Draco. He talks freely now, offers Harry information about himself without overthinking it. So even though Harry doesn't always ask, Draco will more often than not volunteer the information. 

"This is where I got to really know Astoria," Draco continues, his eyes lingering on the peeling paint. "It just seems a shame that Fortescue's cousin was involved. She just never seemed the type. I figured she was Imperiused, but if she had been, the spell would have worn off by now."

It's there again, the faint sense of unease that Harry can't shake. There's something about the case that hasn't sat right ever since it ended. He knows they're missing something, and he and Draco have sat awake trying to work out what it was without getting anywhere these past few weeks. Still, it lingers over both of them, especially now as they look at Fortescue's crumbling shop. It's that same feeling he'd had standing outside of Bathilda Bagshot's house during the war, as though some hidden secret lay inside that Harry wasn't privy to.

"There's no use worrying about it now," Harry says, though it's the only thing that's been on his mind these past few weeks.

He feels the way the thoughts keep crawling through his head, nagging things that don't let him sleep at night. He lays awake thinking about what it is they did wrong, whether it was Draco or the Auror team. They're dark twisted things that tell him that Draco missed something on purpose, that perhaps he's only with Harry to make sure no one finds out. Just flashes of fragmented thoughts that only hit Harry when he's most tired, or when he lets work get to him. He's immediately guilty, every single time he thinks these things, but since he doesn't say them aloud, Harry figures he's not hurting anyone.

He knows where they come from. Harry knows that it's because he hasn't taken his meds in over a month. It's that and the guilt he feels for ignoring Dr Griffith's calls. It isn't hard. The office is busy and Dr Griffith even more so. Harry knows that eventually the calls will get more frequent and Hermione will find out. When that happens, Harry will deal with it. For the time being, he's doing well. He can handle the things he thinks at night, and he's still getting out of his bed, going to work, going on dates. 

He's okay. 

He'll be fine.

"I suppose there are other things we should worry about," Draco says. 

"Oh?" Harry asks his heart pumping hard in his chest.

He inhales, counts out his breaths and exhales. It's okay. It's fine.

"Kingsley's fondness for Ministry events," Draco says. "And forcing his staff to go."

Draco is talking about the official release of prisoners with minor offences from Azkaban. Without the dementors there and the shortage of Aurors, it makes the most sense for Kingsley to release people. They've sat through the meetings and the assurances that even Aurors-in-training will have to do their part to guard the prisoners left in Azkaban. Even with the pending releases, there's still a shortage of staff. Harry knows a lot of the fuss Kingsley makes is to keep the press happy and off the backs of already overworked staff. He will survive an evening of quills in his face and invasive questions about his relationship with Draco if it means keeping the Ministry in order.

Festivities cost the Ministry nothing, as they're often paid by the families of people looking for favours. This evening is hosted by Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy at Malfoy Manor, which brings Harry back to Draco talking to his father. Kingsley's hands are tied because he can't be seen to be hesitating about being in Draco's family home if Draco is now working with the Ministry. Draco is aware, which is the only reason he's going to go, despite the current strain between Draco and his father. 

Harry doesn't want to get involved with whatever family dynamics there are going on between the three Malfoys, but he's also worried. There's something that burdens Draco despite his attempts at indifference whenever his father is mentioned at the Ministry. Harry doesn't want Draco to talk to his father for Lucius, but because he knows it's something Draco wants to do. 

"Your dad's going to be there tonight," Harry says.

Draco says nothing.

Harry knows it's fifty-fifty whether Draco will take the suggestion well or not, but he knows if he doesn't say it Pansy will, in a much less delicate way.

"You should talk to him," Harry says, sighs when Draco says nothing, and continues. "I know you want to talk to him and it doesn't help if you're both going to keep being stubborn about it."

Draco raises an eyebrow and turns to look at Harry. "Have you been talking to my mother?" he asks.

Harry rubs a hand against his temple and tries to keep his temper in check. Lately, any little thing is close to setting him off even when he knows it shouldn't.

"You know I haven't," Harry says. 

"Then why the insistence, Potter?"

The use of his last name means that Draco is done talking about this. Harry runs a hand through his hair, looks at the crumbling storefront. The sun is hot all of a sudden, too much open space around them. He feels like they're being watched and it makes no sense to fight with Draco for nothing.

"You know I don't give a damn about your father," Harry says.

Draco clenches his jaw, his eyes hard when he looks at Harry. "Okay," he says. "I get it. You don't give a damn about my family."

"You know that's not what I meant," Harry says. 

Draco bites the corner of his lip, his eyes scanning Fortescue's. He looks at Harry and then away. 

"We shouldn't fight about my father," he says, finally. "I already do that enough with my mother."

Harry exhales and reaches out to take Draco's hand. Together, they turn back to the busy streets of Diagon Alley, leaving behind the crumbling storefront. 

*

#### 

BATTLE OF THE EXES

##### 

June 27th

_Tensions were high at Diagon Alley's new nightclub, The Black Cat. Recently opened by Blaise Zabini, sole heir of the Zabini fortune, the club was meant to insert what Mr Zabini refers to as "some fucking class" into Britain's Wizarding World. As part of the club's opening night, a select few guests were invited, some of which included students present at the Battle of Hogwarts. Of note were Hermione Jean Granger and Ronald Bilius Weasley, who, sources say, are days from tying the knot. But what drew attention was that a number of Harry Potter's exes were present as well. Starting Chaser for the Holyhead Harpies Ginevra Molly Weasley took time off the Holyhead's notoriously full training schedule to attend the Black Cat's opening night. Dean Thomas, Deputy Head of the Department for Muggle and Muggle-Born Relations Office attended as well. But not all of the night was one-sided. Pansy Parkinson, Astoria Greengrass, and of course, Blaise Zabini, who have all been linked to Draco Malfoy, were also in attendance. How the pair, who have been steadily dating for at least a year, took the presence of so many exes remains mostly a secret. However, one can only imagine the kind of drama this particular night inspired…(cont'd pg. 6)_

*

Draco's hands are cold against Harry's neck, but Harry moves back and Draco leans into him, and the heat from Draco's body is a welcomed presence. One of Harry's hands is in Draco's hair, while the other one grabs at Draco's side to bring him closer. Harry's mouth is going numb from how hard Draco is kissing him but he doesn't ask him to stop. They're in a dark corner, covered by whatever spell Blaise is using to give the corner booths privacy. Harry doubts that there's soundproofing but it doesn't matter for now. Not when Draco's pushing his way into Harry's space, his mouth leaving a trail of kisses down Harry's neck.

Harry doesn't know how long they've been here, but he knows it happened because Harry made an offhand comment about Blaise and Astoria. It hadn't been Harry's intention to sound bitter but he's not complaining about the outcome.

"We should get out of here," Draco says in between kisses.

His hands are moving restlessly against Harry's side, his fingers digging in as he leans to plant wet kisses to Harry's neck. Harry sighs into it, tilts his head so that Draco can get closer. Harry inhales the scent of Draco's shampoo, gets a hand into Draco's hair and tugs. He likes the way the strands of hair fall through his fingers, how Draco always keeps his hair long enough to tug. Harry imagines them leaving early, going back to Draco's house—their house—and putting Draco on his knees. 

Harry hasn't just let Draco bring him apart with only his mouth in a long time. But he pictures how it would be if they could get away. How he'd push Draco to his knees in the blue sitting room, right in front of the fire. He'd watch Draco's cheeks get red from the heat of the fireplace and from how hard Harry would fuck his mouth. He'd take it slowly in the beginning, only until Draco was shaking with how much he wanted Harry. Then they'd go fast so that Harry could feel the hot, wet slide of Draco's mouth and his soft hair between Harry's fingers. It wouldn't take long with how much Harry wants it, never long enough to satisfy the burning hunger in Harry's chest. He wouldn't be able to help himself because Draco on his knees, with his mouth open around Harry's cock, is always enough to set Harry off.

He shudders now as he imagines Draco's mouth somewhere else. He can tell Draco knows what he's thinking because he leans in closer, pushes against Harry deliberately, just enough so that Harry can feel him.

"We should go," Harry says, finally.

But Draco smiles as he pulls away, a teasing light in his eyes. He looks around the club, his eyes landing on the group of Fleur's cousins who have come with Fred and George. Most of the Weasleys are here tonight, except for Charlie who's in Romania again and Bill who stayed home with Fleur and the baby. Harry follows Draco's eyes to Blaise who is trying his best to avoid Cormack McLaggen. 

"We should dance," Draco says.

He stands before Harry can object and slips into the crowded dance floor. Harry watches him a moment, how easily Ron and Hermione absorb him into their group. Pansy makes her way over and Harry recognizes a friend keeping an eye out. Ron says something and Pansy turns her nose up at him, but there's genuine mirth on Ron's face and Hermione is outright laughing. 

"Why are you here by yourself?" comes Ginny's voice over Harry's shoulder.

He tilts his head back to see Ginny looking at him over the edge of her booth. She grins, her red hair turning an eerie green in the club lights. She looks good, tanned and strong, and Harry sees all the marks of a Quidditch player on her. 

"I'm waiting for Draco to get bored so we can go home," he says.

Ginny frowns and looks out onto the dancefloor. Harry watches her eyes land on Ron, Pansy, Draco, and Hermione. She lets out a long-suffering sigh and grimaces at Harry.

"It figures that you'd be the one to fix hundreds of years of carefully crafted tension between Slytherins and Gryffindors," Ginny pauses as she sees Harry's smug look and says, "Not because you're an amazing diplomat. It's more your general air of annoying goodness and that stubbornness people insist on calling nobility."

She doesn't mean it. Harry knows this logically, the way he knows that Draco laughing with Blaise or Pansy or Astoria doesn't mean anything. But he can't control the initial reaction, the way the thought of Ginny being annoyed at him worms its way into his head. He tries to stop before it gets farther and he ends up spending the rest of the night wondering where he went wrong with her, how he could have done better. It serves no purpose, but Harry can't help the way his thoughts get away from him sometimes.

He still hasn't gone back to see Dr Griffith. 

"Hey," Ginny says, shoving Harry's shoulder lightly. "You know I don't mean it right? I'm glad you're happy with Malfoy."

She shudders when she says it but her smile is genuine and Harry forces his own smile. He breathes in, counts to ten, breathes out.

"Are you okay?" Ginny asks.

Harry doesn't know how much Ginny knows. He's never told Ron and Hermione that they can't talk about his visits to Dr Griffith and no one knows about the week of pills he still has in his drawer back at his apartment. The uncertainty with Ginny is new and Harry adds it to the mental list he's been keeping of symptoms. He knows not to let it go too far and if he has to go back to see Dr Griffith, he'll figure out how to tell Draco then. 

He might not need to go back. 

"I'm fine," Harry says and his smile feels less forced this time. "I think I'm going to go dance with my boyfriend."

"Oh," Ginny says, raising her eyebrows. "Boyfriend?"

"Someone called?"

Harry grins at Ginny's surprised look and turns to see Draco leaning against the opposite side of the booth. He's watching Harry with heated eyes but he spares enough time to nod at Ginny in greeting. 

"Are you boyfriends then?" Ginny asks. 

Her tone is casual but Harry can see the challenge underneath her outward calm. Draco smiles disarmingly at her then winks at Harry.

"Boyfriends. Lovers. Casual live-in partners," Draco shrugs. "Depends on the day."

"Okay," Ginny says, standing up. "I guess I approve."

She gives Draco a long once over then turns to Harry. She watches them both, a small frown on her face until she shrugs. 

"Eh," she says. "Could be worse."

"Could be worse?" Draco asks, disbelieving.

Harry leans back against the soft cushions of the booth and looks Draco up and down. He's been sweating and the lights from the club make it look as though he's shining. Harry thinks of sunlight and warm summer nights, of Draco's mouth on his. 

"Let's get out of here," he says.

Draco gazes out at the club, his expression bored. "Okay," he says, turning back to Harry. "Let's get out here."

*

#### BIRTHDAY BASH OF THE YEAR

##### August 1st

_Harry James Potter, most known around Wizarding Britain as the wizard who defeated He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, turned twenty-one last night! Not only that but Harry Potter was voted Britain's Most Eligible Bachelor for the third year running! Congratulations are in order for Mr Potter and for all those single witches and wizards around the country! Now is the chance to throw your hat into the ring and see where Lady Luck takes you!_

*

"Can I even qualify as Britain's Most Eligible Bachelor if I am not actually a bachelor?" Harry asks.

He's lying down on Ron and Hermione's couch, watching the rotating blades of their ceiling fan. The uneven coats of paint are gone, leaving behind smooth swirls. 

"I don't think the Prophet cares," Ron says from somewhere behind Harry's head. "Especially since it's Malfoy."

"Ron," Hermione admonishes. 

"What?" Ron says. "It's true. Harry knows it's true."

Harry does know. He's read the Prophet articles, how easy it is to skew any little interaction he has with Draco. Pansy has a fondness for sending them Prophet articles before they're published and Draco has made a collage of his most favourite ones. There had been a particular favourite of his, something to do with battling exes that Draco had pinned to their refrigerator for a month.

It doesn't bother Harry because it doesn't bother Draco, but this particular article doesn't sit well with him. Last night, Draco had finally agreed to come to dinner at Mrs Weasley's and the night had been pleasant. More than that, Fred and George had joked about Draco having to watch himself once Charlie came back from Romania and no one had lost a limb. There had been general banter and teasing and seeing Draco with the Weasleys had made something warm settle in Harry's chest.

They're fitting in with each other. They've been living together for about two months. Harry wakes up to Draco making breakfast in the morning. Everything is good. Everything is right. But Harry can't shake the feeling that something will go wrong, that the wrong thing will set Draco off and they'll be back to where they were at the beginning of all of this. It doesn't matter how many times Draco opens up, or how many times Draco comes back after their arguments. Harry always worries.

"Harry," Hermione says, gently. "How are your visits with Dr Griffith going?"

"Hm?" Harry asks, sitting up.

Hermione frowns at him. "You seem a little out of it," she says. "Ron asked you twice if you wanted tea."

Harry looks at them, from Ron's worried expression to Hermione's suspicious one. He thinks of the two bottles of pills back at his flat. He knows where they are, could go get them before he swings back to Draco's. He thinks of Dr Griffith and whether the office would have thought to call for him again now that he's missed more than three months.

"Same as always," Harry says. 

"You should talk to your psychiatrist," Hermione says. "Just in case."

"Yeah, mate," Ron nods. "Just checking won't hurt. Those Muggle healers of yours really helped you the first time you got like this."

"Like what?" Harry asks.

He doesn't mean to sound confrontational, but he can tell it comes off that way when Ron holds his hands out and takes a step back.

"You know I don't know anything about psychiatry," Ron says. "I only meant, it's been a while since you zoned out when we were talking to you."

"Yes," Hermione says. "And last time, it was because you weren't on your meds yet. So this time, it could be because there's something going on with the dosage. You know mom said that the office called back in May to check in on you. You have been going, haven't you?"

"I missed May," Harry says. "But I'm fine. I promise."

"Okay," Hermione says.

Harry can hear the suspicion in her voice and he knows this isn't over but she lets it go for the time being. 

*

#### THE BOY WHO LIVED IS MISSING

##### August 8th

_It has been a week since The Boy Who Lived turned twenty-one and what was supposed to be a night of revelry turned into a week-long escapade. Sources inside the Ministry say that Harry James Potter, Auror-in-training, has been missing since his birthday last week. "He just hasn't come into work," the anonymous source tells reporters. "But it's Harry Potter, who's going to complain?" Who, indeed. As all of Wizarding Britain knows, Harry Potter was instrumental in winning the Battle of Hogwarts and in the downfall of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. However, Mr Potter has proven himself to be inconsistent at best when it comes to Ministry matters. Whether Minister for Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt will allow Mr Potter's continued disregard for the rules of his place of employment remains to be seen…(cont'd pg. 7)_

*

Harry can hear Draco roaming around their bedroom, but he's warm in his nest of blankets and so he doesn't move when Draco calls his name. He can hear the shades being opened, hears Draco call him again, but Harry's too tired to do more than make a low noise of agreement.

"Harry?"

Harry feels the bed dip as Draco sits next to him. 

"Harry," Draco says again. "Hey, love, time to get up."

But the bed is warm and Harry is so tired. 

"It's the second day you haven't been to work," Draco says. "Weasley asked after you yesterday. He says he'll be by tonight."

Harry pulls his covers tighter around him and lets Draco's voice lull him back to sleep.


	20. What the Wizarding World Doesn't Know

"I don't know what's wrong," Draco says.

He's holding a cup of horrid coffee from the pot in the main room. Weasley takes a sip from his own cup, makes a face, and tosses the whole thing into his bin. 

"What do you mean you don't know what's wrong?" Weasley asks. "I thought you said he was sick."

Draco sighs and runs a hand through his hair. "I thought he was sick," Draco says. "But he's been sleeping for almost two days. I got home yesterday and he was asleep. And this morning, he wouldn't get up. I don't think he's eaten in over twenty-four hours, Weasley. That's what I mean."

"Well, why didn't you bloody well say something?" Weasley asks.

Draco takes a deep breath. He understands the anger, is even, oddly enough, comforted by it. It means that he isn't imagining things, that Harry isn't annoyed at him or other ridiculous things he's been thinking. Something is wrong, which brings with it a different kind of worry.

"What do I do?" he asks.

He's been asking himself the same thing the past few months, though it's never been anything as obvious as these past few days. Draco's just noticed that Harry's thoughts drift some days. He'll sleep late on the weekends, sometimes until past midday if Draco doesn't wake him. There are days he'll go for runs a week in a row and then stop. 

Draco had assumed these things were just part of who Harry is. But the past week, Harry seems to be struggling with just showering or getting something to eat. Draco may have trouble recognizing when he himself needs help, but he would never jeopardize Harry's well-being. Once he knew that, it was easy to know where he should ask for help. He chose Weasley because he's easier to access during the workday and Draco doesn't know where Granger could be these days, she's so busy.

"Malfoy," Weasley says, pulling Draco out his thoughts.

Draco looks up and the look of horror on Weasley's face seems out of place for what they're discussing. It makes the hair on the back of Draco's neck stand on end, and he goes through three horrible scenarios involving Harry's untimely death before he thinks to ask what's wrong. 

"What?" Draco asks.

"What has Harry told you about his medication?" Weasley asks. 

"Medication?" Draco asks. "Potions, you mean?"

Draco doesn't quite understand Weasley's muttered curse or the way he's looking at Draco with barely hidden pity. Draco draws himself to full height, part of him already putting up the walls he's built for moments like this. He doesn't need pity, especially not Ron Weasley's.

"Oh, calm down," Weasley says. "This isn't your fault. This one's on Harry. Hermione's going to kill him."

Draco frowns. "Why would Granger want to kill Harry?" he asks, knowing there's a huge part to this conversation he isn't privy to. 

"We have to talk," Weasley says. "Come have lunch with Hermione and me."

It makes sense that Draco goes, he tells himself. Even if he hasn't been alone with Granger and Weasley before, they're the only ones who know Harry better than he does. Harry trusts them and they care about Harry, so Draco trusts them. He goes with Weasley and when they get to Granger's office, she gives them one long, assessing look.

Then, with a sigh that's long-suffering and world-weary, Granger says, "He's off his meds, isn't he?"

Weasley clears a space on Granger's desk and takes a seat. He looks at Draco pointedly and when Draco doesn't move, he points to the chair next to Granger's desk. Draco looks between them and decides that he's here and there's nothing left to do but take the chair. Once he's sitting, Granger looks at him, her brown eyes hard and unyielding. Her face is expressionless and Draco feels like a schoolboy wanting to impress a teacher who hates him. 

"You're going to call me Hermione," she says, finally. "And you'll call Ron, Ron."

Weasley opens his mouth to protest but a look from Granger silences him. Draco, for his part, was not expecting this topic of conversation and he knows it's easy to read on his face. When he turns back to Granger, she looks infinitely disappointed in him.

"We're here for Harry," she says. "And we're going to have to keep being here for Harry. And there's no point in holding old grudges when none of us is the same person we used to be. This is the first thing we have to do because if we can't even do that, then we're not going to be able to help Harry."

Draco can feel the faint stirrings of panic again. He takes a deep breath, holds it, counts down his exhale. He thinks longingly of Cheshire and the sunlight, and how easy it had been to exist in a place where nothing mattered but Harry in front of him. 

"What's wrong with him?" Draco asks.

Granger says nothing as she continues to look at him. At first, Draco thinks that she's waiting on something from him, but then Weasley blows out a breath and says, "I'm not the one you should be worried about. Parkinson threatened to hex my eyebrows off if I was mean to him."

"Ah," Draco says, carefully. "Yes, Pansy can be like that at times."

Granger sighs. "Well, she was nice when she was with Astoria," she says. "We talked about obnoxious Prophet reporters and whether Ginny would punch someone before the end of the Quidditch season."

"The answer to that is probably yes," Draco says. 

Weasley laughs and Granger rolls her eyes but smiles. She holds Draco stare for a moment longer before extending her hand. Draco takes it without hesitation and they shake. 

"Okay," she says. "Let me tell you about the absolutely ridiculous amount of things the Wizarding World doesn't know."

-

The gist of it is this. There are things Draco has never given much thought to because they don't concern him or anyone he cares about. He's aware that his upbringing consisted of a narrow focus in which his family only ever cared about what other purebloods wanted. Draco also knows that he's different from the boy who thought people owed him their respect or admiration. He has lived through things that have broken down the carefully constructed tower where he housed his sense of self. He's someone new so he believes everything Hermione Granger tells him.

"After the war, Harry had trouble, I guess you could call it, settling down," Hermione says after she's poured everyone tea. "He wasn't sleeping well, having nightmares, wasn't eating."

Draco thinks of Harry in their bed, huddled underneath sheets even though it's summer and the nights never get cold enough for so many sheets. He tries to remember the last time he saw Harry eat a whole meal and finds that he can't. 

"It was very hard for him to go back to his usual life," Hermione says. "It was hard for all of us, but Harry felt like maybe it shouldn't have been for him, you know? He felt like everyone was looking to him for a solution, for hope, or whatever other bullshit the Prophet was spewing that day. And so when he found it hard to go back to the way things were, it was difficult for him to wrap his head around that."

"Right," Draco says. "So is that why you asked about potions?"

Ron watches Draco and in the silence between them, Draco senses that he's still missing something.

"Potions are all well and good for magical illnesses," Hermione says. "But there are things that the Muggle world is better prepared for."

Draco raises an eyebrow in disbelief before he can stop himself. It's not that he thinks Muggles don't have their positives. It's just that there are few things he has come across that can't be solved with magic.

"I know," Ron says. "I thought the same thing and then Hermione started talking about mental disorders."

Draco thinks of the Janus Thickey Ward at St. Mungo's, the smiling witch and her platitudes, the way she speaks to her grown patients as though they're children. Draco knows of the ward because his father used to say that the only thing worse than death was ending up at Ward 49. He thinks of the Longbottoms and the articles he's read on what Bellatrix's curse did to them. Then, he thinks of Harry hidden behind a white curtain, unable to leave, a danger to himself. 

"What do you mean mental disorders?" Draco asks and he knows they can all hear the fear in his voice.

"Harry has depression," Hermione says. "It's a Muggle term. He's getting treatment from a psychiatrist and a therapist to help him. It means he needs medication, like potions, but in little pills. He should have been taking them but if you don't know anything about it then that means, he's either been very good about hiding it from you or he hasn't been taking his medication."

There are things Draco knows he should ask, starting with what depression means and what potions Harry should be taking. But all he can think of is Muggles with no understanding of magic trying in their Muggle way to fix Harry. And wizards in white robes with their placating voices and their sympathetic looks. 

"We can't take him to St. Mungo's," Draco says. "Have you been to the Janus Thickey Ward?"

Ron winces. "Yeah," he says. "Once."

Hermione shakes her head. "He doesn't need that," she says. "He already has someone, a very good doctor who was helping. Who will help, so long as Harry goes back."

"So how do we get him to go back?" Draco asks. "And just to clarify, why does he need Muggle medication and what is depression?"

"I forget how much there's still missing in the Wizarding World," Hermione says, sighing. "It took me days to explain to Ron. It's more or less like any other illness. Except for this time, it's Harry's brain that isn't producing the right amount of chemicals. And it makes him think things that he usually would have better control over when he's taking his medication. The medication helps balance the chemicals in his brain. It's helpful for him, especially because, for him, the medication does work. It helps him keep on track, makes it so that he's not sleeping twenty hours straight and not eating. There are books. I'll have to get you a book."

"Listen, Malfoy," Ron says. "All you really need to know is that St. Mungo's doesn't understand this. If we take Harry to St. Mungo's, all they'll do is give him potions so that he sleeps at night and then another one so that he eats. And when that doesn't work, because none of that is going to help regulate all the brain stuff, they'll just lock him up. Trust me, the Muggles know what they're doing with this one."

"Okay," Draco says. "So what? He stays home? I take care of him there? What do I do?"

Hermione smiles for the first time since their conversation started. "You know," she says. "Ginny was right about you."

"What do you mean?" Draco asks.

Hermione shrugs. "She said something about you being good for Harry."

Draco finds it suddenly harder to look directly at Hermione Granger. He doesn't feel like he deserves her praises or her acceptance. Part of him still worries that he might have pushed too hard, that he might have asked too much of Harry. He worries that he doesn't understand what's happening to Harry right now, that he might make a mistake and hurt him. All of the talk about the brain and chemical imbalances and Muggle doctors. These are all things Draco doesn't fully understand and he will always worry that not knowing will create more problems for Harry.

"I have to go," he says and before anyone can call him back, he's gone.

*

Harry expects Ron and Hermione. Part of him has been expecting them since he stopped taking his pills back in Cheshire. He knows that they'll tell him he has to go see Dr Griffith and his psychiatrist, and he'll have them as an excuse to do so. He can't back out of this now and maybe they'll even stick around long enough to help him explain it to Draco. Which is why, when the Floo goes off and they find him lying in bed, staring at the perfectly smooth ceiling, he isn't surprised. What does catch him off guard is that Draco isn't with them.

"Hey," Ron says when he sees Harry's awake. "How're you feeling, mate?"

Harry makes a noncommittal noise and listens for the distinct sound of Draco moving about the house. He's met with nothing but the slight rustling of sheets as Hermione takes a seat at Harry's side.

"Draco told us you haven't been well," Hermione says. "That you've been sleeping a lot. Did you know he didn't even know you started running every morning? He said you were only out a couple of times these past few weeks."

Harry sighs. "Yeah," he says and the words sound dull to his ears.

They're right to be here, right to be asking him these questions. He owes them these explanations because they care about him and Harry would share this with them anyway. But he thought he was managing. He thought he had things under control. It makes no sense that he's unhappy when everything is working out in his life. Things are good with Draco, with Ron and Hermione. All of their friends are getting along. Work is finally starting to mean something now that Harry has been able to help with the larger cases. It isn't even anywhere near October.

"I went to see Mum after we talked to Draco," Hermione says. "She said Dr Griffith had called for you. She sent an owl and assumed you had followed up because she didn't get any more phone calls." 

"Probably too many patients to follow up," Harry says. 

He tries not to sound as though he's bitter about it because he isn't. It's just difficult to grab onto a thought when all he really wants is to go back to sleep. He's just so tired these days, and logically, he understands his symptoms. It's just too much effort to do anything about them.

"Do you want me to call Dr Griffith and your psychiatrist?" Hermione asks.

"Yeah," Harry says.

He feels miserable, even worse when Ron plops down beside him and reaches out to shake Harry's shoulder. He wants the comfort but all it does is push a knot hard against Harry's chest, a well of emotions that seem to come from nowhere. Harry can feel the corner of his eyes prickling and it's embarrassing and frustrating to feel so much at once.

"It's all right, mate," Ron says. "You know I only understand like half of what's going on, but I'm here for you."

Harry swallows down the lump in his throat. "Thanks," he says.

Ron settles down into a more comfortable position next to Harry. He shoves sheets out of the way and once he's lying down fully, he lets out a sigh of contentment. 

"These sheets are soft," he says. "The bed is nice too."

"Draco picked them," Harry says.

He's careful to look only at Ron as he says Draco's name. He knows whatever it is they're not telling him, Ron is the one most likely to break first. Hermione will take a secret to her grave if she believes she's protecting someone. 

"Where is he?" Harry asks.

It's past six in the evening and though the sun is still out and there are still reasons why Draco isn't home, Harry knows better.

"I told him about you seeing a psychiatrist and therapist," Hermione says. "Because you should have never stopped taking your medication just because you didn't want to tell him."

She's right, as always. It isn't fair that Harry uses his and Draco's relationship as an excuse for having stopped his medication. That was never about Draco. It was always about Harry and what was best for himself. He was the one who chose to stop, the one who said nothing, and the one who has to pick himself up and go back to his appointments. 

"How did he take it?" Harry asks.

He's afraid to look at them now. There's a part of him that has latched onto the idea that Draco will leave him because Harry's problems are too much to handle. Those thoughts catch him when he least expects it. Like when he and Draco are out having fun and Draco will go get drinks, and Harry will see how the other people in the room eye him. Then Harry will think of all the people out there who haven't killed a Dark Wizard and who've never had to deal with nightmares. How Draco could be with people who don't start thinking of their dead parents near Halloween. He's afraid that after all the things Draco has to deal with, Harry's issues might be the thing that snaps whatever they have into pieces.

"Listen, mate," Ron starts.

"What happened?" Harry asks.

"He took it well," Ron says. "But he also kind of disappeared on us after we told him."

"Oh," Harry says and there's really nothing else to say.

-

It's nearly midnight, and a few hours after Ron and Hermione leave, when Draco comes home. He comes straight into their room, holding a stack of books, his hair windswept and his cloak coming loose from around his neck.

"Sorry, I'm late," he says, dropping the books by the bedside table. 

Harry watches as Draco climbs over the bed still wearing his shoes and plants a soft kiss on Harry's forehead. 

"I went to the library," he says by way of explanation. "I needed books on mental disorders, I think Granger called them. But there's very little so I had to stop by a couple of different places and the Manor. I think I went to maybe six different libraries and I only found four books."

Harry feels a small stirring of hope and he tries not to seem too eager when he asks, "Why were you looking for books on mental health?"

Draco stops midway through removing his boots and shoots Harry an incredulous look. "How else am I supposed to know how best to help you? I have to understand what's happening."

"Oh," Harry says, quietly.

He says nothing else as Draco finishes pulling off his clothes, as he goes through his before-bed ritual. By the time Draco crawls into bed with him, Harry still hasn't thought of what exactly he should say to Draco that could encompass what this means to Harry. He thinks about his parents' graves in Godric's Hollow, about how Hermione and Ron had coaxed him out after the Battle of Hogwarts. He thinks of how Mrs Weasley had fixed him tea and made sure he'd had enough to eat. He thinks of Ginny and her insistence that he help her train the summer before her last year at Hogwarts. There are never any right words, Harry thinks, as he turns on his side to look at Draco's grey eyes, at the slopes of his face, and the softness of his expression.

"Hey," Harry says.

"Hey," Draco says, leaning in closer so that their noses touch. 

They breathe together a moment, the silence of the night washing over them. 

"I love you," Draco says and in the quiet space between them, Harry feels them land like a solid, comforting weight. 

*

There is nothing in the four books that Draco has that talks about best practice for someone in Harry's situation. He reads through anecdotes from people who couldn't sleep, who lost sense of time, who eventually couldn't remember who they were. There's more anecdotal evidence regarding relaxation potions and sleepless draughts, a lifetime dependency on a variety of potions meant to curtail the worst of the symptoms. None of the afflictions is named, but Draco can pick out bits and pieces of each case and all of them seem to fit Harry in some form or another. 

It's terrifying, if Draco is being honest, how easy it would be for Harry to get worse. The idea that he may have to depend on multiple potions for the rest of his life is manageable, but not ideal. There's no way people won't find out unless they brew the potions themselves. But even then, someone will be bound to notice the specific ingredients they buy. And Draco is sure Harry prefers no one else knows for now. 

"Granger better be right," Draco says.

They're in the sitting room, Draco on the couch directly in front of the fireplace, and Harry lying on the floor. When Draco speaks, Harry pops his head up off the floor and says, "What?"

Draco puts down his book. "Why are you on the floor?" he asks.

Harry shrugs and lays back down. "I like it here," he says. "What does Hermione need to be right about?"

Draco sighs and leans back into the couch. He thinks about changing the colour of their bedroom into another shade of blue, or a vibrant yellow. His books said something about colours enhancing mood and despite Draco's deep dislike of yellow, he'll change the entire house to the hideous colour if it'll help Harry. 

"What do you think of the colour yellow?" he asks.

"Luna likes yellow," Harry says. 

He sounds calmer than he has in the last few weeks, even though they haven't really talked about what Harry's Muggle doctor's appointments will mean for them. Draco assumes whatever it is, Harry will let him know and he'll accommodate as needed. In the meantime, Draco has been doing his best to read up on what the Wizarding World has to offer with regards to mental disorders. He doesn't think he has gotten far, but at least he knows more than he did yesterday. And at least, Hermione Granger had dropped by earlier to give Harry his appointment details.

"What are you reading?" Harry asks, bringing Draco out of his thoughts.

Draco picks up the book closest to him and holds it out for Harry to see. It's a large, leather-bound tome, with jagged page edges, from the Manor library. It belonged to Draco's great-great-grandfather, who Draco is starting to suspect had a more intimate knowledge of mental illness than Draco's family tree suggests. There are notes in the margin with references to Felix Felicis and the euphoric side effects. Draco had considered it for the briefest moment before dismissing it, along with all the other suggestions he's found. There is too much potential for addiction and Hermione is right, so far all the potential potions and draughts are simply stoppers, not a solution to Harry's problem. 

"I have three books on depression," Draco says to Harry. "Two of them are from Hermione and one of them is from Weasley. But the one I'm reading is from the Manor library. It has been massively unhelpful."

Harry sits up. "Why do you need books on depression?"

Draco gives Harry an unimpressed look and settles back into the couch with his great-great-grandfather's book. "I need to know what I can do to help you in between your Muggle healer appointments," he says.

"You don't need to do anything," Harry sighs. "I'll be fine."

"Why are you still on the floor then?" Draco asks, gesturing to the empty space next to him on the couch.

"I like it," Harry says, frowning. "It makes me feel more present if that makes sense."

"Present how?"

Harry shrugs. "I just feel better here," he says. "It doesn't really make sense. It just grounds me."

"So you'll be sleeping on the floor now, I take it?" Draco asks.

Harry grins up at him and Draco smiles back at him helplessly. 

"I like that you know," Harry says. "And I like that you're trying to help."

Draco leans forward and Harry sits up and they meet in the middle. The kiss is soft, something easy and reassuring. It fills Draco with warmth and a sense of belonging. He loves Harry Potter and the fact that they can fit so well means more than Draco can put into words. He has had few things to look forward to the past two years, few things that have brought him real joy. What he has with Harry is now one of the brightest parts of his life, and he likes knowing that it works.

"I take it Granger will be taking you to your appointment next week," Draco says.

"Nah," Harry says. "The Ministry would have my head if I took Hermione away from them for even a day. Ron said he'd come."

Draco nods and says no more. He doesn't ask to go with Harry but he can tell that Harry's waiting for Draco to say something. It occurs to Draco that perhaps he's wanted, that he can offer something despite his lack of knowledge. 

"I can come if you want," Draco says. 

Harry tilts his head back. "Only if you want to come," he says. 

"Really, Potter," Draco says, rolling his eyes. "We're not going to be that kind of couple. I'll come."

Harry grins. "Are we a couple?" He asks.

Draco knows Harry's being difficult on purpose but the teasing is fun and the atmosphere is light. It's a warm Saturday afternoon and the house is cool. It feels like a summer afternoon in Cheshire, the silence afforded by the house's defence spells washing over them. There's an underlying sense of peace that makes everything feel unhurried. 

"I really don't know what you'd call what we've been doing these past few months," Draco says. "If not a boring domestic relationship." 

"I'm not bored," Harry says.

Draco picks up his book again. He reads a whole page before saying, "Neither am I."

*

Harry doesn't expect the annoyance. 

He goes to his appointment with his psychiatrist, gets back on his usual medication after a long conversation about not stopping his medication. Harry listens to everything silently, agrees he made a mistake, promises not to do it again. He's not annoyed when he leaves with his prescriptions, not even when he picks up his medication and he and Draco go home.

The annoyance comes weeks later when Harry has been taking his medications for two weeks and has gone to two meetings with Dr Griffith. It's that Draco learns all of Harry's medication times and his schedule for running in the mornings. There's always a pill and a glass of water waiting for Harry when he gets up in the morning and the same in the evenings after work. Draco makes sure Harry eats three times a day, that he drinks water. There's sage in the house at one point and sunflowers.

Harry understands what Draco is doing, knows he should be grateful that there's another person who cares about him. But it's grating the way Draco has taken everything so literally. There are three different clocks in the house now, two of which are spelled to ring at exactly eight in the morning and eight in the evening. The third one is a mood tracker that shifts its hands as Draco and Harry's moods change. Harry can't stand it despite how often it sits on "content."

He hasn't worked out how best to bring up the subject with Draco. Aside from tossing the whole clock into the bin, there's nothing Harry can do. It's aggravating and annoying that he's so bothered by Draco's earnestness. The way Draco will come into a room, ask Harry how he's doing, and kiss the top of Harry's head as though he's Hermione. 

They haven't been out together in weeks, haven't had the chance to do more than crawl into bed and sleep because Draco's valerian root tea makes Harry drowsy. The pills make Harry groggy, and he knows it's just the adjustment period of the higher dosage on the pill he takes at night. Minor things that will pass, or won't, and then Harry will either try another pill or deal with it. 

He doesn't want Draco treating him with kid gloves is the issue. It's frustrating because Harry knows it comes from a good place. So he thinks he'll mention it when Draco comes back from visiting his parents, which is another thing. Draco's life is moving forward. He's talking to his father again, and though they argue most of the time, Harry knows Draco sees this as progress. Work is going well. Robards clearly favours Draco and Neville has only good things to say about Draco's work ethic. 

Harry still feels stuck some days. Not that he regrets the work he does but just that it doesn't seem enough. It's as though there's more he could be doing to help the Wizarding World, and all the red tape in place, making it harder for him to do so, is an annoyance. If he could just skip over the training, get to a point where Harry's actually doing something like Draco did with the DLF task force, then things would be better. 

And being behind is just Harry's own doing. He was the one who left. He was the one who missed work for so long because he felt he needed a break. It's all so messy and convoluted. It makes no sense to dwell on these things, but Harry's still working through it all with Dr Griffith, magic excluded. At the end of the day, a stressor is a stressor, Wizarding World or not. 

So he waits for Draco to come back and the longer Harry waits, the less he wants to be in this house. In their house. In Draco's house, that was his and Astoria's first. Harry understands logically that thoughts come and go and he likes their house. He might have chosen a different colour for the kitchen but he likes what they have, at the end of the day. Unwanted thoughts are like that and they have a way of sneaking up on Harry until he can feel them running around his head. They threaten to overshadow the good things, and so, he has to leave. 

He intends to go for a walk only so he doesn't think to leave a note. But he takes his pills out of the cupboard and pockets them on his way out.

-

Harry ends up on Ron and Hermione's couch, watching the blades on their ceiling fan turn above him. He can feel the breeze from the fan washing over him even as he follows the dents in the paint on the ceiling. He can hear Hermione and Ron talking in hushed voices to the left of him but Harry focuses on the consistent turns of the fan blades. He times his exhales with the soft whoomps the fan blades make every full turn. 

"So," Hermione says finally, "Tell me again what happened?"

Harry blows out a breath. "He's driving me mad."

"Because he bought you a clock?" Ron asks.

"It's not just that," Harry says. "I think I've been off the pills for too long. It's harder for me to think clearly and sometimes they make me tired but if I sleep in late, Draco thinks I'm dying. And I just...don't have the energy to explain it all to him yet. And the books he has are making it worse because there's stuff about other mental disorders in there, and I know he's keeping a tally of how many I could possibly have, and it's a lot."

Harry exhales and lets the guilt wash over him. He felt this way about Ron and Hermione the first time. Back when Hermione's parents had insisted she see a therapist and Harry had asked what seeing one would entail. He'd been irrationally angry that he'd been the one with a diagnosis at the end of everything, and Hermione had moved on after a few sessions with Dr Griffith. Especially because Ron had seemed to need nothing more than a vacation and some sun. 

He'd felt guilty about being angry about their happiness then too. Guilty about how their efforts to help him made him want to throw things. They'd wanted to help and Harry had wanted it to all go away. Though this time he feels differently about the medications and his diagnosis, he's just so over having to explain himself. He needs the energy to get better, to pull himself out of where he is and really think about why he thought giving up his medications was a good idea. 

"I love him," Harry says. 

Hermione's silence is the hardest to take. Harry can't see her but he knows she understands what he's saying. 

"You can love someone and still choose to take some time for yourself," she says. "It doesn't make you selfish and it doesn't mean you love them any less."

"Wait, hang on," Ron says. "Are you dumping Malfoy?"

The indignation in Ron's voice is finally enough to make Harry sit up. 

"Why do you sound so angry about it?" Harry asks, genuinely curious. 

Ron shrugs. "Listen, mate," he says. "I'm on your side. I'll always be on your side. If you want to dump Malfoy, I'll be the first one to support you. But just think about it. You've invested very heavily in your relationship. Are you sure you want to end it now?"

Harry grins. "Are you saying you think Draco's good for me?"

Ron gives Harry a pained look. "Stop looking at me like that," he says. "You're the one who's dumping him."

"I'm not," Harry says, leaning back on the couch arm. "I just need some time to get myself together."

Hermione nods. "And that's a perfectly okay thing to want," she says. 

"Yeah," Ron says. "Time's good."

*

The timing, Draco thinks, could not be worse. He's tired and the conversation he'd had with his father still stings. They'd spoken about failed relationships and the probability that Harry would leave Draco behind once things cooled between them. His mother had made him tea and had added too much milk, and the whole evening was just a reminder that Draco doesn't fit with his parents anymore. Something has shifted, and though he wishes it weren't so painful, he's not sorry that he has become a different person than his parents had raised. 

He goes home with the intention of crawling into bed with Harry and surrounding himself with the reasons why his new life is worth it. When he gets there though, it's to find Harry standing in the front hallway, his trunk at his feet, and his wand in hand. He doesn't look surprised to see Draco, so Draco can only assume that this has been planned. 

"Where are you going?" Draco asks.

He hates how afraid he sounds already, how easily he has given himself away. If ever there was a moment for him to have the upper hand, it's gone in the way his voice shakes.

"I don't know how to do this," Harry says.

He sounds lost too and there's some comfort there. A desperate grab at a lifeline in a rapidly sinking ship. 

"What exactly are you trying to do?" Draco asks.

He's wearing his mother's favourite green suit, the one she insists brings out his colouring. All it does is make Draco feel as though he's still in school, constricted and forced into a place he doesn't belong. He wears it only for her but it helps that he has it on now. Because it makes it easier to pull back, to gather the parts of him that are hurting and tuck them away behind the wall he knows so well.

"I don't want you to think I'm leaving you," Harry says, running a hand through his hair. "I just need some time to sort myself out."

"You've packed a bag, Potter," Draco says, concentrating on his pronunciation, on controlling the shake in his voice. "Forgive me if I don't believe you when you say you're not leaving…"

He can't say "me." It implies too many things, the quiet nights in bed with Harry's mouth on Draco. It means the sunlight in Cheshire and the way Harry sounds when he says Draco's name. It reminds Draco of what Harry feels like behind him as they lean over the bar to get a drink, of how easy it is to wake every morning to Harry Potter asleep on his bed. Of the almost desperate way, Draco had tried to convince himself at the beginning that Harry meant nothing. Of the relief it had been when he'd finally admitted that he loved Harry Potter, that he was all in, no holds barred. 

He can't say "me," because it means Harry's leaving and Draco's father was right. Draco's not meant to keep good things. 

"Draco," Harry starts. 

It's too much, too soon, and Draco won't be able to hold himself together if Harry stays much longer. 

"You should go if you're going," Draco says. 

"I'm not leaving you," Harry says again and when Draco looks up, Harry's right in front of him. "I left most of my things here. I just need a minute, okay? Just a little space so I don't drive both of us mad."

Draco doesn't ask for promises. They're things children need and he has not been a child for a long time. But he looks at Harry and he believes him, and though Draco may not understand why this is necessary, he promised that he would help Harry get better in any way he could. 

"No dating anymore Weasleys while you're gone," Draco says.

Harry smiles and leans in to place a quick kiss to Draco's mouth. "I'll be back," he says. "I promise."

*

#### 

ESCAPE FROM AZKABAN

##### 

September 27th

_On the 27th of September, sources inside the Ministry report the escape of a prisoner thought to be a cousin of Florean Fortescue, a respected historian and previous owner of Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour. Though details of the escape remain vague, it has been established by Ministry officials that Florean Fortescue had no close family members. In fact, after his murder at the hands of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, the Fortescue fortune was subsequently passed along to Gringotts bank, as is custom for all witches and wizards who die without heirs. Who, then, was the woman arrested during the DLF raid that took down fifteen members of a group calling themselves the Dark Lord's Faithful?_

*

It feels too close to a coincidence that the Prophet is still on the house steps when Harry leaves for Ron and Hermione's. But with nothing else to do, Harry picks it up and crosses the street to Disapparate. He opens the paper because he can see Frida Fortescue on the front cover and something about her face rubs Harry the wrong way.

He knows they're missing something so he reads the article about her escape, about her faked relationship to the Fortescues. There's something in her face that reminds him of someone, though Harry can't for the life of him remember who she looks like. The article speaks of tracing her wand to its original owner but there's nothing on who that might be. Harry supposes, as he tucks the paper away, that he'll find out all about it at work on Monday. He gives it no further thought, and as he's turning on the spot, he sees her.

She's no more than five feet tall, with a round face that gives easily to kindness. Though her picture in the Prophet shows her as serious and unsmiling, Harry can see that Frida Fortescue, or whatever her name may be, is no stranger to laughter. Through the shadows cast by the streetlights, Harry can see her moving slowly towards him and though her blue eyes are focused on him, Harry can tell she's waiting for someone or something else.

Slowly, so that he doesn't call attention to himself, Harry reaches into his pocket for his wand. 

"I wouldn't do that if I were you, Mr Potter," she says. "We simply don't have the time."

"What do you mean?" Harry asks.

But just then, Harry feels a familiar tug somewhere around his navel and the next thing he knows, the world is spinning away from him in a whirl of colours. The Portkey, for that's what the newspaper must be, is glued to Harry's side, trapped between his arm and chest. 

Harry tucks his hands close to his side because he wants to be ready when the spinning stops. He's at a disadvantage, he knows this, but he hopes that he'll catch whoever is waiting at the other end of the Portkey off guard. 

At the first solid footing Harry has, he throws his wand out, the disarming spell half-formed in his head. He can feel the beginning of the spell, the way the magic solidifies. 

" _Expelliarmus_ ," calls a deep voice. 

As Harry's wand goes flying, he lunges forward, grasping at air as he tries to keep his grip. He takes a quick look around and finds himself in a basement, a single half-window to the left that's too far off the ground to be of any use. There's nowhere with enough room to take cover, so Harry draws himself up to his full height and faces the direction the disarming spell came from.

Almost at once, it makes sense.

"Of course it was you," he says.

But before he can say another word, a blast of red light hits him square in the chest and he knows no more.


	21. Fortescue's Cousin

#### THE BOY WHO LIVED DOES IT AGAIN

##### 

September 28th

_For the third time this year, Harry James Potter is a no-show. Sources close to Minister Shackelbolt say that Auror-in-training Potter was expected at a meeting of a task force specifically formed to target escaped prisoners. However, in what is becoming customary for The Boy Who Lived, Potter was absent both from work and from the meeting in question. Now the question on everyone's mind is whether the Ministry still considers Mr Potter a trustworthy candidate for the high demand job of an Auror. What remains true is that twice a pattern does make and poisonous toadstools don't change their spots._

*

Harry Potter has been missing ten hours and twenty-seven minutes before anyone notices. This is ten hours and twenty-seven minutes too late, as neither Draco nor Ron Weasley knows where Harry is. When they manage to get in touch with Hermione, she has not heard from Harry either. Draco is not surprised. He has very little hope that Harry has simply decided to vanish, and hasn't, as Draco is increasingly starting to suspect, been kidnapped.

"And you're sure he left your place at ten?" Weasley asks for the third time. 

Draco runs a hand through his hair. "The answer hasn't changed in the last three minutes," he says. "Are you sure he never showed up at yours?"

"No," Hermione says. "We assumed he stayed with you." 

"But he didn't," Draco says. "He said he needed space and that he'd be back."

Weasley shares a look with Hermione. "You don't think he went off to Cheshire?" He asks.

Draco thinks of sunlight and warm kisses. "No," he says. "He wouldn't. That's not what he wanted. He was going to stay with you two."

"Right," Weasley says, starting to pace in the cramped space of his office.

There are four desks crammed into the twenty by fifteen-foot space along with rows of filing cabinets that hold not only Longbottom's, Weasley's, Harry's, and Draco's cases but also cases from half of the workers on the floor. Draco watches Weasley pace in the space available, hit a filing cabinet, and turn around to do it all over again. Earlier, Longbottom had taken one look at the three of them huddled together and had walked out without being asked. 

"We have to tell Kingsley," Draco says. 

"Yes," Hermione says. "We should. He'll probably want to keep this quiet, what with Fortescue's escape."

"You mean whoever the hell that was that isn't Fortescue's cousin," Ron Weasley says. "Robards lost his shit when he found out our intel was wrong, especially because he was on guard with Proudfoot when Fortescue escaped. I heard he wanted to kill Proudfoot but Robards said we were going off your report, Malfoy, so it wasn't all on Proudfoot."

Draco rolls his eyes. "Yes," he says. "I masterminded this whole thing. You've uncovered my genius plot to get my boyfriend kidnapped and murdered by a group of fanatical supporters of the Dark Lord."

Weasley points a finger at Draco and continues his pacing. 

"It's best you let me handle Kingsley," Hermione says. "The Head of my department has a meeting with him in half an hour. If I go now, I might be able to squeeze in a few words before the meeting starts."

"There's still going to be a massive panic," Weasley says, rubbing his eyes. "Someone is going to find out and the Prophet will go mad. Not naming names but it's probably going to be Robards's fault. I'll be surprised if tomorrow's Prophet doesn't have the massive headline: Ministry Loses Potter."

Draco laughs despite himself. He can feel the general worry lying underneath everything he does, but he can also feel it from Weasley and Hermione. They're in this together, which makes knowing Harry's gone, and no one knows where, somewhat easier to bear. 

"What do we do in the meantime?" Weasley asks.

Draco and Weasley turn to Hermione. 

"We figure out what happened to Harry," Hermione says. 

"Right," Draco nods. "Look for clues."

"Leave Neville with all our cases again," Weasley says. 

"He'll survive," Draco tells him, standing and picking up his bag and heading towards the door. 

"Or end up quitting," Weasley calls after him. "And then who'll take all the Class C Non-Tradables?"

-

It's decided by Kingsley and Robards that things have to be handled quietly so as to avoid a panic. And, as Weasley says, "to avoid looking like complete fuckups for losing The Boy Who Lived." The problem is that there will be someone to blame at the end of this and Draco knows he's the main target. Knowingly or not, Kingsley giving him credit for the success of the DLF task force, and Robbard's change in attitude towards Draco, afterwards, has made it so that Draco will not escape clean from this. But at the moment, these things don't worry him as much as knowing that someone managed to kidnap Harry Potter. 

"You know what I think?" Weasley asks.

He and Draco are outside on the front steps of Draco and Harry's home. Draco is at the bottom of the steps and Weasley is at the top, both of them looking for anything that might be a clue. Draco tries to remember if there is anything out of place, but so far all he's done is stare at the porch for the last five minutes. 

Weasley coughs pointedly. 

"What?" Draco asks, exasperated. "What could you possibly have to say that requires my undivided attention?"

"You know what I think," Weasley says, again, taking a seat at the top step. "I think it's really suspicious that you're going to be the only one crucified for this. I get it, Fortescue, or whoever she is, knows you were lying about wanting to be part of the DLF, so I get why she'd want to get back at you. And you're dating Harry, so it all makes sense why she would take Harry. Not to mention the DLF is basically a fan club for You-Know-Who."

"We discussed all of this with Granger already," Draco says. "None of this is new information."

"Right," Weasley says. "But if you're the target here, why is no one coming after you yet? Why is there no ransom note, or a howler or owl? What is meant to happen here? They keep Harry until what?"

"I don't mean to be obvious, Weasley," Draco says, frowning. "But the DLF was killing people, in case you weren't aware. Whether or not I have become a target after the raid, doesn't really take away from the fact that the DLF meant to worship the Dark Lord and punish Harry for his death."

"Malfoy," Weasley says, sounding far more calm than Draco feels. "Listen to me."

Draco throws up his hands in exasperation. "Harry's been missing for over eleven hours, if we assume he was taken when he left our house. I really don't have the time to play games."

"I know, Malfoy," Weasley says.

He sounds defeated for the first time since they've been together and the tone of his voice makes Draco pause. Weasley and Granger are Harry's best friends, and Draco knows, logically, that this means they will be as worried as Draco is at the moment. If his and Harry's places were switched and it was Harry looking for him, Pansy and Blaise would do their best to comfort Harry despite their own worry. So Draco knows, as he looks at Weasley sitting on the house steps, that he has to listen and trust Ron and Hermione. 

"I apologize," Draco says. "All of this isn't easy, and I can't imagine it's easy on you either. Especially with the Prophet this morning and everyone thinking Harry ran off somewhere."

"Yeah," Weasley says. "It isn't easy but who gives a crap what the Prophet says. Listen to me, because I think I can almost figure out what happened and I need you to work it out with me."

Weasley pats the space next to him, and for lack of anything concrete to do, Draco climbs the steps and takes a seat next to him.

"Walk me through what you did when you came back from your parents?" Weasley asks. 

Draco exhales loudly but starts listing off his moves from that afternoon. 

"Again," Weasley says.

"I Apparated across the street," Draco says. "We always Apparate or Disapparate from across the street."

Weasley stands. "So let's do this across the street," he says.

"We've already checked across the street," Draco says but gets up to follow Weasley.

Draco walks down the steps, one hand on the railing as he goes. He's halfway down the steps, when he remembers tripping over a copy of the Prophet the day before. He'd thought it strange at the time, because the Prophet usually came by owl, but he'd assumed Harry had been trying to read it outside to get fresh air. It had been gone this morning, but a copy announcing Fortescue's cousin's escape is on the kitchen counter, which means that either Harry had picked up an extra copy of the Prophet or someone had left it there.

"Weasley, wait," Draco says.

Ron, who is halfway across the street, stops and turns back. "What?" he asks.

"There was a Prophet on the steps yesterday," Draco says. "But it made no sense that it was there. We had our copy already and Prophets are delivered by owls. I thought it might have been Harry getting some air but—"

"—what if it was a Portkey?" Weasley finishes. 

"So we go back and check if any unauthorized Portkeys went off last night," Draco says, making his way across the street. "We find out where it was meant to go and we find Harry. We should go see Robards."

Draco is across the street, his wand out, before Ron Weasley's hand lands on his arm. 

"Wait," he says. "I don't think you should go."

"Why the hell not?" Draco asks. 

Weasley lets go of his arm, but he's looking around, his eyes narrowed. "I don't like this," he says. 

"You don't like what?" Draco asks. "Robards?"

Weasley turns on the spot, his eyes on the trees in the distance. Draco waits, impatient, as Weasley completes his survey of the area. 

"No, I don't trust Robards. Never did," Weasley says. "I need to check something and you need to go somewhere safe."

Draco thinks to argue but there's genuine concern on Weasley's face. Draco can't tell if it's that fact that Weasley has been operating on high alert since Draco walked in that morning that's starting to get to him. Or if it's his gut telling him that Weasley is onto something. 

"I'll figure it out," Weasley says, mistaking Draco's silence for disagreement. "Trust me. You just get out of here."

"All right," Draco says. "I'll go to Blaise."

"I'll take you," Weasley says, reaching out for Draco's arm. 

Draco raises an eyebrow at the way his and Weasley's arms are linked together but doesn't argue as they turn on the spot and Disapparate. 

-

Draco knows he's driving Blaise out of his mind with his pacing, but until Ron Weasley comes back, Draco is going to continue walking. They're in Blaise's Manor house, in the kitchen, where the green walls are starting to feel like they're closing in on Draco. He thinks of the Slytherin dungeons, the watery green hue from the lake and how Malfoy Manor had taken on that same colouring when the Dark Lord had moved in. 

"Blaise," Draco says on his third loop of the kitchen. "When are you going to find a better colour for the kitchen?"

Blaise, who sits on the marble kitchen countertop, with his legs crossed, gives Draco a long look and says nothing. Draco stops his pacing and stares at Blaise's neat hair, at his perfectly shaped nose and his cheekbones. He looks bored but Draco can tell that Blaise is thinking hard about something. 

"What is it?" Draco asks.

Blaise raises his eyes and shrugs. "It's probably nothing," he says. "Just something Pansy mentioned."

Draco raises an expectant eyebrow and Blaise frowns at him. 

"She mentioned that she saw that Auror that doesn't like you," Blaise says. "He was talking to Skeeter the day after your wonderful coming out ceremony."

Draco rolls his eyes. "What does that matter?" he asks. 

"It just seems to me like the only person who is going to lose once all this comes out is you," Blaise shrugs. "And for some reason, I can't see the Minister as willingly setting you up. Which leaves the only Auror who doesn't like you, and who suddenly seemed to have a change of heart that has put you in a very precarious position."

"Or," Draco says, despite the nagging feeling of unease that is settling over him. "It could just be that Robards genuinely had a change of heart."

Blaise gives Draco an unimpressed look. "Someone kidnapped your boyfriend," Blaise says. "And Robards is talking to Skeeter about you. You are now the one person they're going to come for after it gets out that Harry Potter has been kidnapped by a wrongly identified DLF member. Which, again, you were instrumental, if I am remembering correctly, in bringing in."

"But Robards worked with the Ministry against the Dark Lord," Draco says. 

Blaise gives him an almost pitying look. "And this would be the first time a supposed good person did the wrong thing?" 

Draco finally takes a seat and thinks about the last few months. He remembers the way Robards had been against Kingsley's decision to hire Draco, to the point that Kingsley would meet Draco without Robards. There's a reason Kingsley oversaw the Aurors for as long as he did despite the numerous other things he had to do as Minister. Draco knows if he follows the clues they'll lead to nothing good. But he can't bring himself to believe it yet. Not when Robards has been encouraging and supportive against the other harder to convince Aurors-in-training. It doesn't sit well with Draco that someone who has done good for the Wizarding community for so long could so easily fall off the wagon. It doesn't bode well for him. 

"I don't suppose you have anything stronger than tea on you?" Draco asks.

"You know I don't drink," Blaise says, dryly. 

"It was worth a try," Draco says.

They let the conversation lapse and Draco starts counting in his head the number of reasons Robards has for wanting Draco to fail. It is, unfortunately, a long list, and almost as depressing, it could easily apply to Weasley and Granger, and if Draco is being honest, Harry as well. There are far more people in the world who want him to fail at what he's attempting to do for himself than there are people who want him to succeed. So it's no problem imagining Robards as orchestrating Draco's fall from grace with the press. It is another thing, however, to imagine that Robards would want the same thing for Harry.

Draco is still considering all of this when there's a knock on Blaise's front door. Blaise stands to get the door and on his return, Weasley follows close behind. He takes one look at Draco then stares pointedly at Blaise. 

"Consider Blaise the Weasley to my Harry," Draco says. 

"Gross," Blaise says delicately. "I am obviously Granger."

Weasley mouths the word "gross," but largely ignores Blaise. Instead, he turns to Draco and says, "You won't believe what I found."

"An unauthorized Portkey leaving the park across my house at around ten last night?" Draco deadpans.

"Worse," Weasley says. "An authorized Portkey."

"Robards," Blaise says, giving Draco a look.

"How?" Weasley asks, stops mid-sentence, and turns back to Draco. "Never mind. Robards authorized a Portkey from your house. It was a newspaper. I don't know where it went but Hermione's handling it. It all has to be kept real quiet because Robards is hanging around Shacklebolt like he knows someone is going to try to get a hold of the Minister."

"So what?" Draco asks. "Robards kidnapped Harry?"

Even as he says it, Draco knows it doesn't make sense. Draco went to all the DLF meetings. If Robards had been part of it from the beginning, the DLF would have known he was there under Kingsley's orders. Nothing of what has happened since then would have worked. 

"There's someone else," Draco says. 

"Has to be," comes Blaise's bored voice from behind him. 

Weasley turns in his chair and shoots Blaise a death glare. "Excuse the fuck out of me," Weasley says. "Is it your friend that's been kidnapped?"

"What do we do?" Draco asks, interrupting whatever Blaise is going to say. "Where do we go?"

Weasley runs a hand through his hair. "You know better than I do that most of this is waiting," Weasley says. "So we wait for Hermione to get back."

Draco knows, and so, as the clock in Blaise's kitchen ticks away the hours, they wait. 

*

Harry comes to with the overwhelming sense that something is wrong. He can't feel the entire left side of his body. At first, he thinks it's the cold floor of the basement but when he opens his eyes, he sees that he's upright. The room in front of him is one wide empty space with stone walls and floors, a stone pillar at the centre of the room. To the far right is a boiler. Opposite of where Harry stands is a light brown wooden door with three brass locks. 

Harry tries to move and finds that his hands have been bound with thick chains that lock to bolts screwed into the wall at his back. His legs are free but it feels like lead weights have been tied to them, and he can't see clearly, despite still wearing his glasses. Harry closes his eyes against the wave of nausea that hits him as he struggles against his bindings. He takes stock of how he feels and aside from the aches along where the chains are digging into his wrists and ankles, there's nothing that feels too out of place. He's been knocked around but that pain is expected. 

Harry tugs experimentally on the chains and finds he can take two steps away from the wall comfortably. The length of the chains prevents anything more than that and though Harry tries, he can't find any more give. He leans back against the wall and tries to concentrate on the flow of his magic. He can feel it on the edge of his fingers, but when Harry concentrates on the releasing spell, it's as though there's a wall between his magic and the chains. He closes his eyes, tries again, and finds that he can't quite make his wandless magic work. 

He knows it's a longshot, given that he's only ever been able to make it work about one-third of the time he tries. But he tries again and again until he feels the edges of exhaustion. His vision goes blurrier than it already is and still, Harry pushes once more. He has to concentrate on something that isn't the fact that he's trapped in a basement and no one knows where he is. He thinks of the cottage in Cheshire and how he had been able to keep Ron and Hermione away for weeks. Harry closes his eyes intending to try his spell again. 

He gets only as far as the beginnings of the spell when the locks on the door across from him click open. Harry presses himself against the stone wall to wait. He hears another click and the final squeaking of hinges as the door opens. 

"Ah, Mr Potter," Albert Runcorn says. "Nice to see you're awake."

*

There is an abandoned Manor House at the edge of where the woods meet the town of Crowborough that is not visible to the Muggles living there. It sits consumed by the trees surrounding it, its red brick facade lost to the climbing branches and the ingrown roots of weeds. The windows are covered in a film of moss, a deep vibrant green that fights the presence of fall. Along the front of the Manor House, the path has been largely obscured by the large evergreen tree that sits like a guard at the end of what used to be the walkway.

Draco takes this all in while the fall air rushes through the openings in the forest of Crowborough. Weasley stands at his side, wand drawn, his red hair a dead giveaway in the afternoon sun. Hermione and Neville are in the woods at the other side of the Manor. At last count, there were four other Aurors spread out across the forest, waiting for Weasley's sign to enter the Manor. 

They're looking for one person, a man named Albert Runcorn. Robards had been questioned by the Minister himself so Draco is confident in the information they've been given. It hadn't taken long. It had seemed that when faced with Harry Potter's best friends and the entire force of the Ministry of Magic, Robards had been more than willing to talk. Draco had scraped together a profile on Runcorn while Granger had worked to locate where the Portkey had taken Harry, and Weasley told everyone who would listen that he had never trusted Robards. 

Albert Runcorn was originally one of the suspected members of the DLF. He was a disgraced Ministry employee, who had worked to bring Muggle-borns to trial during the time of the Dark Lord's rise to power. He was responsible for the death of at least six Muggle-born witches and wizards and had overseen the administration of the Dementor's Kiss to the same six Muggle-borns. Draco doesn't doubt that there are things not listed on Ministry records that Runcorn has done. As far as Draco can tell, Runcorn had every reason to want to get back at Harry. 

There is evidence to suggest that after Harry, Granger, and Weasley had broken into the Ministry of Magic and had assisted in the release and subsequent escape of countless Muggle-borns, Runcorn had fallen from Death Eater graces. He'd gone on the run after a roomful of people at the Ministry had seen Runcorn facilitating the escape of, among others, the Cattlemores. Draco had followed the file to a village in France before the trail went cold. To this day, there's no evidence that Runcorn had survived the war. 

He fits, much more than Fortescue's Not Cousin. Runcorn would have been aware that someone had impersonated him at the Ministry the day Harry Potter and his friends had been seen. He would have known the places that Harry had gone to from the countless articles and books that were now available regarding Harry Potter's adventures the year before the Dark Lord's downfall. More than that, Runcorn had access to Robards, who would have been able to give him whatever other information he was missing. And Runcorn is the only person unaccounted for, of the three people that Harry, Hermione, and Weasley had impersonated. 

This has always felt personal to Draco and as he stands in front of the abandoned Manor House, he feels how that thought settles into his bones. This is personal now, for all of them, because Harry's stuck in the house somewhere and Draco doesn't know whether he's safe or not. Whatever aspect Draco played in this is over. Robards is done and whatever fallout comes from this, Draco will take it a million times over so long as Harry's safe. 

"Ready?" Weasley asks.

Draco raises his wand at the same time as Weasley does. Together, they cast their Disillusionment Charms and as the spell takes hold, Draco turns to him and says, "I'm ready."

*

Albert Runcorn looks a little worse for wear when Harry can finally bring himself to focus on him properly. He looks like a five-foot witch with deep brown eyes and a face that looks like it could hold kindness. But there is something wrong about it now that Harry looks at her closely. There is something in the shape of her brow that speaks to Runcorn's own large forehead. It's a transfiguration spell that hasn't quite taken hold. If Harry looks long enough, he can see that the witch's hair is faintly curly and still holds the dark colour Harry remembers Runcorn having. 

"You can stop fretting," Runcorns says as he watches Harry shift against the stone wall. "Those are cursed chains meant to stifle magic. A gift from the Gaunts. Or what's left of them."

Harry stops moving. "The Gaunts are dead," he says. "Voldemort was the last surviving descendant, and well, as you know, he kind of died."

Harry feels immense satisfaction at the full-body flinch Runcorn gives at the mention of Voldemort. 

"What's the matter?" Harry asks. "Afraid of your old master's name? I thought we were over that."

Runcorn's anger is immediate. He waves his wand and the chains on Harry's wrists get tighter. There's a faint whirring as the chain shortens and Harry gets pulled back tighter against the wall. He can feel his left arm cramping as it gets trapped between his back and the stone. Runcorn waves his wand again and the second chain follows the first until both of Harry's hands are trapped at his back. He nods at Runcorn and leans his head back against the wall.

"Why am I here?" Harry asks. 

He lets his eyes wander almost aimlessly over the walls, searching for anything that could be useful. The basement is mostly bare, except for the chains on Harry's hands, Runcorn, and the boiler to the far right. Harry considers a heating spell but dismisses the idea almost at once. There's nothing he could do with a distraction if he can't get free of the chains. He's not worried about overpowering Runcorn the way he is now. He's little more than five feet tall, thin, and mostly harmless looking. The wand is the only thing that worries Harry aside from the chains.

Runcorn sighs and Harry realises that Runcorn has been speaking this whole time. 

"I'm sorry," Harry says. "I tend to doze off when things get boring."

Runcorn looks angry for a brief moment but he inhales and it's as though he's put all of his emotions behind a mask. The change is instantaneous and it reminds Harry of what Draco used to do. How easy it had been for Draco to hide behind a blank expression as though he'd swallowed all of his emotions. This is what Harry didn't want. He didn't want to let himself think of Draco, warm in the mornings, and put together after breakfast. 

It's too late, Harry knows. He tries his best to reign in the surge of emotions as he thinks of Draco's devastated expression when he thought Harry was leaving him. He thinks of his favourite Draco so far, bathed in the Cheshire sun, happy and free for the first time since Harry had met him. He thinks of Draco's earnestness, how he has been trying to educate himself on what's going on with Harry. He thinks of the Muggle books Hermione had lent him, of the book even Ron had handed over. 

Harry aches with the sudden need to know that Draco is safe, that Ron and Hermione are safe. He would do anything to see them again. But he will settle for knowing that they haven't been harmed, that whatever happens to him, they will be okay. 

"You don't have to look so sad," Runcorn says. "Your friends are coming to save you. In fact, I think I heard the perimeter spells go off maybe five minutes ago."

Runcorn is too calm.

"What are you talking about?" Harry asks, unable to control the alarm in his voice. 

Runcorn sighs, twirling his wand in his hand. He reaches into his other pocket and pulls out Harry's wand. He lines it up with his own wand and examines the two. Harry watches his wand bend dangerously in Runcorn's hand but it holds. 

"I know you weren't the only one at the Ministry that day," Runcorn says. 

He tosses Harry's wand away from both of them and waves his wand over himself. Harry watches as the features on Runcorn's face rearrange. There's an unpleasant sucking sound as Runcorn's hair disappears back into his skull and settles into his shorter, curly, black hair. He seems to shoot upwards until he's towering at above six feet, his eyes back to their dark brown, his nose the longer more hooked version that Harry remembers. 

Runcorn looks years older than Harry remembers him. There are wrinkles on his forehead that Harry has no memory of and there's a noticeable shake in his wandarm. His clothes have changed into more presentable Ministry robes, but they too look worn. There's something oddly unaligned about Runcorn as though everything about him is perhaps the wrong colour or the wrong size. 

"You look rough," Harry says despite the constant pounding of his heart. 

Runcorn rolls out his shoulders. "I wish we had more time, Harry Potter," he says. "But seeing as how your friends are probably inside the Manor, we don't really have time for catching up. How long do you think I should wait before I blow up the Manor?"

Harry feels his insides go cold as he realises what Runcorn is saying. He looks around the basement, his eyes going to the boiler on the far right almost of their own accord. Runcorn follows Harry's gaze and laughs.

"Nothing so simple as that," he says. "There are spells and we are wizards."

"What exactly is it that you want?" Harry asks, letting the anger ride over the fear he can feel in his bones. 

He knows better than to hope that Ron, Hermione, and Draco stayed out of it. He knows the only reason he and Draco were fine not being part of the DLF task force was that they knew there were people they trusted on the task force. Harry isn't gullible enough to think that his friends and Draco will sit out a mission meant to find him. 

"You know," Runcorn says, looking at Harry against the wall of the basement. "All these years, I planned how I would do this. I used to think that I'd want this over quickly, that I'd find you in the streets and kill you there. Easy, clean. I would be in another country by the time someone found your body. But those months after the Dark Lord fell were full of article after article."

"Right," Harry says. "No one left me alone. They would have found my body in seconds and you not long after that."

"Exactly, there were too many people," Runcorn says. "So then I started thinking about how my life had fallen apart, how everything I was working towards got taken from me by three barely legal brats. Everything I had was gone even though Hopkirk managed to keep her job."

Harry laughs, hoping that Runcorn won't set off the explosion while he's still in the Manor. If Harry can keep him occupied for long enough, maybe he can give everyone else enough time to get to them. 

"You know," Harry says. "I'm not sorry you lost your comfortable Ministry job under Voldemort. Was it hard not being around Umbridge? I know you two were close."

Runcorn exhales heavily as though he's disappointed by Harry. "I won't hit you because I want you to be awake when you hear your friends die," he says. "That's what I thought about all those years I was on the run. I planned this moment carefully. Robards was easy to convince. He never believed in the old Minister and he doesn't trust Kingsley."

"Robards?" Harry asks and despite himself, he feels a pang of betrayal. 

Whatever faults Robards has, he has been instrumental in keeping the Auror department operational after the war. Harry has done training with Robards. They work together and Harry realises that he has put more stock into that then he originally thought. Robards is an Auror and Harry understands that he has an unflinching, childish belief that that means that Robards has to be good. 

"Robards believes in justice and doing the best for the Wizarding World," Runcorn says. "He believes that you're going to bring down the Auror Department with all the special treatment that has been afforded to you. He wasn't impressed when you refused Kingsley's offer to be an Auror when he first asked. And he wasn't impressed that you kept disappearing. He was the one, after all, that kept leaking things about your trips to Rita Skeeter."

"For what?" Harry asks.

Runcorn holds his arms out and shrugs expansively. "Because it makes you look like a self-righteous, selfish, and irresponsible child who has let his unearned title get to this head," Runcorn says. "Because even if I get caught and your friends manage to save you, there's nothing they can do for your reputation. You'll be known as the Chosen One who shirked his duties, the Saviour who doesn't want to save. Because when I am locked up in Azkaban, I'll have at least that to keep me entertained."

"And Draco?" Harry asks. "What was the point in involving Draco?"

"Robards asked very nicely," Runcorn says. "He has a thing against Malfoys."

Harry can feel the edges of the chains cutting into his wrists and the unmistakable sounds of footsteps above their heads. He shifts against the wall hoping to keep Runcorn's attention away from the sounds above them. But Runcorn has already moved to the far side of the room. He waves his wand and the wall in front of him splits open, the sides of the walls folding onto themselves as they open into a tunnel. 

"You might want to count down from thirty," Runcorn says and with that, he disappears into the darkness.

*

The tunnel exit is easy to spot if one knows what they're looking for. It's the same kind of mechanism that all the old houses have as a means to provide a quick escape for their residents. Malfoy Manor's tunnel leads out into the forest at the back of the estate. Nott's led to the water's edge. This particular Manor House has a tunnel that opens up into the side garden at the front of the house. The magic trace is faint but Draco looks for it anyway despite Weasley's insistence that they go inside. 

"So what is this exactly?" Weasley asks when Draco shows him the rabbit hole at the side of the house.

The hole blends into the garden and most of it is covered by weeds and overgrown bushes. From the looks of it, the tunnel leads to the basement of the house and Draco knows that Harry will be there. It's what he would do if it were him. He would always go to the place where he would be guaranteed an exit. Draco is sure Runcorn is banking on the fact that this particular exit will be overlooked in their rush to save Harry.

"This is our way in," Draco tells Weasley. "It's like the tunnel at Nott's."

"Right," Ron says, backing up. He waves Draco forward. "Do your thing."

Draco rolls his sleeves back and waves his wand over the opening. He steps back as the dirt around them starts sinking down and the hole expands. It swallows the bushes around it until they're looking at an opening no larger than Draco himself. The fit will be tight and there's no way he and Weasley will be able to help each other if they run into someone.

"You first," Weasley says.

Draco turns back, surprised, but Weasley merely rolls his eyes and heads for the entrance. Draco follows after him and as they try to squeeze their way into the tunnel, an otter lands near the entrance. In Hermione's voice, it says, "Runcorn caught at the Northside of the house. No Harry."

Draco spares a second to consider whether Granger would have mentioned if anyone had been hurt. Then, he exchanges a quick look with Weasley and pushes his way into the tunnel. The fit is tight and Draco's shoulders hit the sides of the walls as he makes his way through. Every so often, debris from above them falls onto their hair and more than once, Draco has to shift sideways to make it past the tighter turns. He makes his way slowly underneath the Manor House until he gives one final push and his shoulder comes out into open space. 

The first thing Draco sees upon exiting is a large spacious basement with stone walls and floor. Across from him, chained to the floor by his ankles, is Harry. He looks up with wide, scared eyes and shakes his head as soon as he sees Draco and Ron have made it to the room. Harry's saying something but they can't hear what it is. Draco doesn't stop to think as he makes his way across the floor and behind him, he hears Weasley cast a spell. It hits Harry in a flash of bright orange light. 

"Draco, stop," Harry says now that he's able to speak. "You have to get out."

"What are you talking about?" Weasley asks from behind Draco.

"Are you hurt?" Draco asks at the same time.

Harry shakes his head, tugging against the restraints that are holding his arms behind him. 

"Stop," Draco says. "You're going to hurt yourself."

But Harry throws himself forward harder. His eyes are wild with panic as he looks from Draco to Weasley. "Get out," he yells. "Runcorn is going to bomb the place."

Draco spares enough thought to reprimand himself for not checking the house for explosives. He thinks of all the runs he did with Kingsley at the beginning of his Curse-Breaker career. How often had he chewed out the newer Aurors for not checking the doorknobs or the keyholes? He has given training at Gringotts about checking for booby traps and explosives. He knows better than this.

He turns back to Harry and he knows it's too late. So he does the only thing he can think of to do at this moment. He closes the distance between them, grabs Harry's face, and says, low, so that only Harry can hear him, "I love you."

A sound like thousands of footsteps breaks out from the walls around them. There's a flash of heat that washes over Draco and he feels the first shockwaves hit him from the left before, with a sound like ripping tendons, the ceiling gives way above them.


	22. The Boy Who Lived

Harry James Potter has a list of things that he's thankful for. He keeps the list in his head and adds and takes away as needed. For the most part, his list consists of people he considers family. On a particularly memorable occasion, he added treacle tart to his list because after months on the run, coming home to Mrs Weasley's treacle tart had seemed like the best thing in the world. After he and Dean had started seeing each other, Harry had added London tourists, because the way they gather like flocks of pigeons still makes him laugh. 

When Harry had officially started seeing Draco, he had added Cheshire sunlight to the list of things he's thankful for after the war. He's since added breakfast in the mornings, and the way Draco pretends to be exasperated at Harry's jokes but will never ask him to stop. There have been other things, too, like the way the wood of Harry's desk feels when he's recently cleaned it. Or the way that Neville will build book forts to keep Ron and Harry away. How Draco sits at his desk, a quill tucked behind his ear as he flips through case files. 

These days, Harry finds that he's even able to put Dr Griffith on his list, him and the books on depression that Draco continues to flip through on occasion. They have moved past mood tracking clocks and onto handwritten notes stuck to the fridge. Sometimes Draco leaves small bits of parchment on Harry's bedside table, underneath Harry's pillows, or in his glasses' case. They're meant to be helpful notes but it makes Harry smile when he finds a note from Draco reminding him to take his medicine, three days too late.

It's the ease with which Draco has absorbed that part of Harry's life into their daily routines that makes the difference. There isn't anymore hesitation or uncertainty between them. Draco doesn't obsessively comb through every scrap of information in his parent's library trying to work out for himself what will make Harry feel better. He asks now and accepts it when Harry's answer is "I need to go for a walk." Though lately, Harry finds that crawling into whatever space Draco has claimed for himself and tucking himself into Draco's side, works just as well as the walks do. But it matters that Draco asks and continues to ask. Just like it matters that Harry can leave his pills on the kitchen table, or in the sitting room, or at his bedside table.

Draco's voice from behind Harry pulls him out of his thoughts. "You're not dressed yet," he says.

Harry turns around and grins sheepishly at Draco. He's standing at the bedroom door, fully dressed in a charcoal suit with a green shirt that matches Harry's eyes almost perfectly. It was a gift to Harry from Ginny but Draco insists on wearing it whenever he can. Draco has slicked his hair back away from his face and Harry crosses the room to run his hands through it. The mousse he used to style it is still wet as Harry ruffles Draco's hair. 

He steps back when he's done and examines his work. Draco still looks put together, every inch of him pressed and ironed. But his hair is loose around his face and when he gives Harry an indulgent smile, he looks softer, more approachable. He's recognizably Draco and not Lucius Malfoy's clone. There's a difference because Draco has mentioned it himself, how easy it is to fall back on his old customs, how sometimes he'll see other couples in the street and worry that someone will say something to them. This despite the fact that Draco himself will be the one to take Harry's hand when they're out in public.

"Old habits die hard," Draco is fond of saying.

But he'll follow it up with a kiss, or a smile, or, if the time is right, a hurried makeout against the nearest flat surface. How things go from there depends on where they are at the given time. 

Today, Draco is dressed and Harry's not but there is no time for Harry to get any ideas. They have a press conference to attend and drinks with Pansy, Blaise, Ron, and Hermione afterwards. Draco is dressed and Harry still has his suit laid out on the bed and two different coloured ties in his hands. 

"The grey one," Draco says. "It matches my eyes."

Harry puts down the red tie and tosses the grey one over his shoulder. He hears Draco's disbelieving scoff and busies himself with his clothes to hide his smile. He has his suit on and is mostly ready before he turns back to Draco. The red tie is still on the bed and when Draco steps forward to loop the grey tie around Harry's neck, Harry lets him.

"So," Harry says, watching Draco's face as he knots Harry's tie. "What are your plans for tonight?"

"I'm being forced to attend a party for Weasley against my will," Draco says. "My plans for the night are to get as drunk as I possibly can, as quickly as possible, and then come home and pass out."

"A good plan," Harry agrees. "But what if instead of that we did something different?"

Draco hums his agreement as he finishes tying Harry's tie. He holds Harry at arm's length and looks him up and down. When he's satisfied with how Harry looks, Draco looks up and motions for Harry to go on.

"What if we cut out early?" Harry asks. "And we left today."

"You want to start our vacation two days early?" Draco asks. "Even though I already promised Mother we would have lunch with her tomorrow?"

Harry steps forward and wraps his arms around Draco. He lets his head fall to Draco's shoulder and sighs when Draco pulls him into a proper hug.

"Yes," Harry says. "Would it make me look bad with your Mum if we skipped lunch?"

"Probably," Draco says and Harry can feel his disappointment like a tangible thing. 

He knows that no matter when they leave, Harry and Draco only have one week away before they have to come back and start on the new cases they've been assigned. A week is more than generous considering that no one needed anything more than broken bones mended. Though, of course, the only reason it was only broken bones was because of Ron's quick thinking and the Shield Charm he cast while Harry and Draco were too preoccupied with their own problems to do much. 

A day or two won't matter but Harry can't quite let go of the idea of Draco laid out in the small bedroom in the cottage in Cheshire. It won't even be morning and there will be no sun but they've had two weeks full of paperwork, interdepartmental inquiries, and reporter after reporter chasing them down. The least they deserve is to sneak away early from what is probably the third day in a row of drinks with their friends. Harry's tired of celebrating that he didn't die. He just wants to go to the country with his boyfriend and watch Draco get annoyed about how cold it is.

Harry lets out his breath in a sigh and resigns himself to another two days of waiting. 

"You know what?" Draco asks, running his fingers through Harry's hair. "I don't think Mother will mind all that much if we cancel lunch. I have been seeing her a lot, lately."

Harry lifts his head to look at Draco. "Really?" he asks, trying not to sound too excited by the idea of skipping lunch with Narcissa Malfoy.

Harry schools his face into a more sombre expression and when Draco rolls his eyes, he knows he's managed nothing. 

"Let's go to Cheshire," Draco says, leaning forward to press a kiss to Harry's mouth.

Harry leans into it, his arms tightening around Draco. "We could leave now if you want," Harry says.

Draco rolls his eyes but lets Harry pull him into another kiss. They stand together, the clock ticking down the time before they have to leave. Draco is warm in Harry's arms and his hair falls over his face as he leans his forehead against Harry's. The days are getting colder and the Cheshire weather is going to make Draco miserable almost immediately, but Harry's looking forward to kissing away the complaints, to wandering the town and drinking mulled wine as they look at the markets. He can't wait to be away with Draco, knowing that they're coming back to something good and solid between them, nothing like the last time they were away. No more doubts. 

"We should go," Draco says, pressing one more kiss to Harry's cheek.

He pulls away and heads for the bedroom door. He's past the threshold when Harry calls his name. Draco turns and Harry waits for the eyebrow raise before he says, "Hey, I love you."

Draco's smile is wide and there's no hesitation in his voice as he says, "I love you, too."

In the end, they're late to the press conference but it's well worth the scolding from the new Head Auror.

*

#### 

CHANGES AT THE MINISTRY

##### 

October 12th

_Last night's press conference at the Ministry of Magic put more than a few Ministry employees in a good mood. The press conference was meant to provide more details as to Albert Runcorn's capture and the subsequent fallout from the interdepartmental inquiries, as well as introduce a couple of changes in the Auror Department. After Gawain Robards confessed to leaking classified information to the press in an attempt to sabotage Auror Harry Potter, Britain's Most Eligible Bachelor, three years running, Ronald Bilius Weasley was promoted to Head Auror. Mr Weasley's work and dedication, as well as his quick thinking in the face of danger, have shown that he is more than apt for the job. Indeed, Mr Weasley has been working tirelessly these past few weeks to complete a review of the entire Auror Department. His suggestions on how to better the department will be presented next week._

_Further changes within the last week have included the promotion of Hermione Jean Granger, formerly the Sub Secretary to the Assistant Head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Ms Granger has been promoted to Assistant Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. This promotion is not unwarranted as it was largely due to Ms Granger's help that the Auror task force was able to track Albert Runcorn's whereabouts so quickly. Wizarding Britain owes Ms Granger a large debt for, without her, who knows what might have become of The Boy Who Lived._

_Last night's press conference also included much-needed information on Auror Draco Lucius Malfoy. In a twist that few could have seen coming, Auror Malfoy took complete responsibility for the lack of information that led to the escape of Albert Runcorn, previously considered to be a cousin of Florean Fortescue, honoured historian and last owner of Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour. Auror Malfoy was at the centre of the Ministry inquiries this past week, though it has been revealed that the lack of information provided to the DLF task force was in no way intentional. After review of the facts, Auror Malfoy was allowed to go back to work. Whether he will still be forced to undergo the suggested ten-day training often given in the past, is still up for debate as Auror Malfoy was prevented from doing his work, in large part, by Gawain Robards. What will come of this remains to be seen but what we can all be sure of is that we have not seen the last of Auror Malfoy._

_In fact, it seems like the careers of the group now deemed The Ministry's Favourites, is only just beginning to unfold and, frankly, we cannot wait to see what they do next.  
_

**Author's Note:**

> The tag regarding homophobia is for the general unacceptance of same-sex relationships among pureblood families. The tag regarding unhealthy coping mechanisms is for a character who stops taking their depression medication in order to keep their depression a secret from their significant other. In this vein, there is a misunderstanding between two characters about how they should handle their significant other's medication schedule. All things are resolved in the end and this fic has a happy ending.
> 
> ***
> 
> This work is part of "Lights, Camera, Drarry" (LCDrarry), a film-, TV- and theatre-inspired Drarry fest.  
>  The creators will be revealed on [tumblr](http://lcdrarry.tumblr.com) and [AO3](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/LCDrarry2020/works) on 15 June 2020.
> 
> Please show your appreciation to the creator with kudos and comments :)


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